


Merlin's Heirs

by RubyClarke



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-16
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-10-06 03:02:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 40
Words: 134,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10324109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RubyClarke/pseuds/RubyClarke
Summary: Have you ever wondered why Albus Dumbledore is the most powerful wizard of his time, why he is the only one that Lord Voldemort ever feared?Dip into a world of power and intrigue, find out who pulls the strings behind the scenes of the wizarding world, and explore a conflict so old that its roots have been lost in the mists of the past.





	1. Prologue

Tall, thin and black-hooded, Lord Voldemort had appeared in the middle of the hall. His terrible snake-like face was white and gaunt, his scarlet, slit-pupiled eyes glaring at Harry, who stood frozen, quite unable to move.

_This is it,_ Elena thought in black despair, _this is the end!_ She was sure that Harry wouldn’t be able to escape, not this time. _What is going to happen to me if he dies?_ she wondered vaguely, desperately trying to will herself to wake up from this nightmare.

“So you smashed my prophecy?” said Voldemort softly, staring at Harry with emotionless red eyes. Elena could feel him rummaging through Harry’s thoughts, looking for the truth; she tried to make herself as small as possible, to hide from him in the depths of Harry’s mind.

Thankfully he didn’t seem to notice her presence. “No, Bella, he is not lying… Months of preparation and effort… and my Death Eaters have let Harry Potter thwart me again…” He raised his wand at Harry. “You have irked me too often, for too long. AVADA KEDAVRA!”

Harry’s mind was blank, his wand pointing uselessly at the floor. As the curse raced in their direction, Elena felt the desperate need to protect him, to do something, _anything…_ she tried to raise his hand that was holding the wand… but it didn’t work. She was powerless.

Suddenly the golden statue of the wizard from the fountain sprang alive, leaping from its plinth and in front of Harry, protecting him. The curse merely glanced off its chest.

“What…?” said Voldemort, staring around. Then he froze in shocked surprise. “Dumbledore!”

Relief washed through Elena, filling her with awestruck gratitude. Albus Dumbledore had emerged from one of the lifts at the back of the Atrium. “It was foolish to come here tonight, Tom,” he said calmly. “The Aurors are on their way…”

“By which time I shall be gone, and you dead!” spat Voldemort. With a sudden flick of his wand he sent a curse against Dumbledore, who responded immediately. Two jets of light, one green, one red flashed across the hall, meeting halfway between the duelists. The power of the conflicting curses surged through the air, sizzling and crackling; small flashes of magic went astray, blasting chunks of debris from walls, floor and ceiling.

The madwoman named Bella jumped at the chance for escape, she leapt into one of the countless fireplaces lining the walls and vanished in a swirl of green flames. Harry sought shelter by ducking behind one of the mantelpieces.

Suddenly Voldemort tore the connection between his and Dumbledore’s wand. He _breathed_ fire, forming it with his hands into a gigantic snake that hissed furiously, striking at Dumbledore.

He raised his hands to tear the snake apart, sending the flames back against Voldemort in a blazing firestorm. The moment it took for the Dark Lord to dispose of the flames he used to reach out with his will for the water in the fountain, engulfing his opponent in a whirling sphere of water.

Elena had never seen magic like this; it almost seemed like the two powerful wizards weren’t even in need of their wands, like they could wield magic with their bare hands. Harry seemed amazed, too; he got up from the floor to take a few steps closer to where Voldemort was visibly struggling to break out of the sphere, fascination overcoming caution.

Dumbledore must have seen him from the corner of his eye, for he swung his wand to shove him back to the ground, out of the firing line. The second of distraction caused his hold on the sphere of water to slip; it broke apart and Voldemort was free again, gasping for air.

He jumped to his feet and took a very deep breath, absorbing all the air around him. Then he let it out in force, the pressure wave threw Dumbledore of his feet and smashed all the windows opening onto the hall. Voldemort raised his arms over his head; the glass shards rose from the floor and were flung against Dumbledore and Harry like a million razor-sharp daggers.

Dumbledore raised his wand to create a shimmering shield, which transformed the shards to fine, harmless grit. Voldemort frowned, seemingly frustrated. Then he was suddenly gone in a swirl of glass dust.

For a moment Elena thought it was over; that Voldemort had accepted his defeat and fled. And then Harry’s scar burst open. It was pain was beyond imagining, pain past endurance…

Desperately Elena clung to Harry’s consciousness, she felt him cling to her; together they were fighting against the creature’s deathly grasp, but there was no escape.

The creature spoke, using Harry’s mouth. “ _Kill me now, Dumbledore…_ ”

_Let the pain stop,_ thought Harry. _Let him kill us…_

Elena had to agree to him, death was nothing compared to this agony, but she wasn’t ready to give up on Harry. _You have to fight, Harry,_ she thought desperately, _think, you have to focus on the difference between yourself and him…_

And for the first time he actually listened to what she said. He filled his heart with emotion, thinking of Sirius, the pain his death had caused him; he thought of his friends, how he worried about them; he let happy memories flash by, Ron and Hermione laughing with him, Sirius hugging him…

And then it was suddenly over. The creature’s coils had loosened, the pain was gone; Harry was lying on the floor, his whole body trembling; and Dumbledore was standing over him.

Thousands of miles away the girl called Elena woke with a start.

 

**Author’s note:** This prologue is heavily based on Chapter 36 of _Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix_ by J.K. Rowling, as well as on the respective scene from the corresponding movie. I borrowed J.K. Rowling’s description of Lord Voldemort and used some lines of dialogue. This will be the only time I’m going to do that in my story, I promise! 

 


	2. Nightmare

Elena lay flat on her back, with several blurred faces hovering above her. Blinking hard to try and focus her sight, she tried to recall how she had gotten into this situation. The last thing she remembered was sitting down in her favorite armchair, with the intention to read a little bit before going to bed. _I must have fallen asleep. But how did I end up on the floor?_

“Elena? Can you hear me?” The anxious voice belonged to Jessica Bennet, one of her room mates. Elena blinked once again and Jessica’s face came into focus. She was staring intensely at her, her face displaying a look of worry and something else… probably fear.

“Elena?” Jessica asked again. “Are you… _okay_?” There was definitely fear in her shaky voice.

Elena paused, pondering the question for a moment. _Am I okay?_ Every single muscle in her body was aching, and her head felt like it was about to explode. Vivid remnants of a dream were still buzzing through her mind: _Curses flashing… people screaming, hurting, dying… Voldemort, dueling Dumbledore… Harry…_

“Elena, say something!” Another voice, nasal and painfully shrill, caused her to snap back to reality. Vivian Harper, another one of her room mates, was kneeling next to her, reaching for her arm, seemingly about to check for her pulse. Instinctively Elena flinched away. “I’m fine!”

“Are you sure?” Vivian didn’t look convinced; she frowned and curled her thin lips in a derogatory manner.

“Yes.” Elena struggled to push herself into a sitting position. “What happened?” she asked, addressing no one in particular.

Vivian exchanged a quick look with Jessica, and then turned back to her with a nasty expression on her face. “Well,” she started slowly, savouring every word, “you were twisting and turning in your sleep… then you fell to the floor and started screaming... It was horrible, you scared us to death!” She pressed her hands to her heart in an overacted gesture of horror.  

Only now Elena realized that she was at the centre of attention, everyone in the room was staring at her. And since it was Friday night, it seemed like every single member of her house was in attendance. _Marvelous,_ she thought resignedly, _this is just what I needed, more proof that I’m a nutcase!_

She rushed to get to her feet; desperate to seek refuge in the relative privacy of her room, to get away from all the prying eyes. Instantly everything went spinning in her head; she had to cling to the back of the nearest armchair for dear life, in order to keep herself from awkwardly slumping back to the floor again.

Her mortifying display caused several bystanders to snigger; she heard Vivian whisper something to Jessica in a malicious tone, whereupon both girls burst into silly giggling. Elena felt herself blushing with embarrassment; like ever so often she wished the ground would just open and swallow her up.

Slightly staggering she tried to make her way over to the stairs that led to the dormitories, but unfortunately her foot caught on a book lying on the ground; she tripped and fell right into the nearest armchair and onto the lap of the sturdy seventh-year who was sitting there. Huffing in disgust, the boy flung her off him; she collapsed onto the floor yet again, landing hard on her backside.

Her audience erupted into sardonic laughter. The seventh-year looked down on her, sneering with contempt. “You’re such a freak, Clarke!” he spat, raising affirmative nods and more laughter.

Elena felt tears welling up in her eyes. It was all too much. She leapt to her feet and fled the common room, the stares and the whispering.

\-------

She ended up on top of the highest tower of Ilvermorny, her favourite place in the whole school. Panting heavily with exhaustion after running up all those stairs, Elena let herself sink to the ground, lying down on her back. She concentrated to steady her troubled breathing. _Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale._ High above her countless stars were sparkling in the sky; it was a clear night, ideal for star-gazing.

Elena didn’t have an eye for the beauty of the night sky; her mind was in a state of complete and utter desolation. _The others are right, I’m a bloody freak! And now I’ve proven it once again, in full view of my whole house!_ Her stomach burned with shame at the thought of her public mortification; the stars blurred as angry tears filled her eyes. _What’s wrong with me?_

It was the same old question she had been pondering for years now, never able to find an answer. Frustrated, she closed her eyes; tears trickled down on both sides of her face and into her hair. _Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale._

The coldness of the stones beneath her was seeping into her bones, calming her down. Elena felt her tense muscles relaxing; the throbbing pain in her temples was slowly fading. She lost track of time. _Inhale, exhale._

A light breeze swept over her face, soothing her. Gradually, the thoughts buzzing around in her mind came to rest as well. She took another deep breath and opened her eyes again; her tears had dried. The stars were still twinkling above her; watching them, Elena forced herself to think clearly. _It happened again._

It wasn’t the first time she had dreamt about Harry Potter. _Somehow,_ she seemed to have a direct connection to his mind. The thought filled her with unease. _A psycho, that’s what you are!_ She shivered, and pushed the notion out of her head. Unfortunately her personal link to the Boy-Who-Lived didn’t seem to underlie her control. It was rather like her mind was drawn towards his, whenever he was in a dangerous situation; and Harry Potter certainly had a special talent to get himself into peril.

Over the years Elena had watched him confront a psychopathic teacher, who harboured the spirit of Lord Voldemort; fight giant spiders, a basilisk and a werewolf; and take on about a hundred dementors on his own. His last year had been especially eventful; he had participated in the Triwizard Tournament, hosted by some European school, as she had learned from the newspaper. In that magical contest he had faced an incarnate, full-grown _dragon_ and almost drowned in some underwater treasure hunt; before they had sent him into a perilous maze to find a portkey that had directly taken him to an eerie cemetery, where he had an exclusive front row seat to watch Voldemort rise to power again.

And every time Elena had kept him company in her mind, sharing his thoughts and emotions; whenever he had escaped death narrowly yet again, she had shared the agony he felt.

At first she had believed that the dreams were nothing but nightmares, created by her vivid imagination, somehow resulting from her freaky obsession with Potter. It was true; she had devoured everything ever brought to paper about the Boy-Who-Lived. Unable to tell where her interest derived from, she had just accepted it as another inexplicable facet of her own insanity, like the nightmares.

That had changed abruptly in the last summer, after the Voldemort-Resurrection episode of her Potter-Watch. Harry Potter hadn’t arrived alone on the cemetery; another boy had been with him. Horror-stricken, Elena had watched as he was murdered in cold blood by Voldemort’s rat-faced little servant. Of course that had only been the prelude to all the horror Harry -and with him Elena- had endured that night; it had been the worst of her Potter-Dreams by far.

When she had opened the newspaper the next morning, bleary-eyed and convinced that the horrifying nightmare had been nothing but a product of her own, irredeemably sick mind; she had been in for the shock of her life. There had been an article describing a terrible accident that had occurred during the last round of the Triwizard Tournament, resulting in the death of one of the contestants.  The notice was rather short and vacuous, mostly focusing on the author’s apparent doubts concerning the safety standards at European schools; but it had clearly stated that there had been a case of death. Even if the authorities had ruled it an accident, the boy named Cedric Diggory had been dead. _Stone-cold dead_.

Shell-shocked, Elena had realized that her _nightmares_ were nothing but brutal reality. Harry Potter had actually been to that creepy cemetery, and she had been there with him. She hadn’t been able to decide which discovery was more unsettling; the fact that what she saw in her horrible dreams was _real,_ or rather that she had _indeed_ a mysterious connection to Potter’s mind.

Over the course of the next months she had intently studied all British newspapers she could get her hands on. Elena was convinced that if Lord Voldemort was truly back from the dead that would cause some major headlines. To her utter astonishment there had been absolutely nothing; no issued warning to the public, no declaration of war on Voldemort, no reports on murders or critical incidents whatsoever. Instead _someone_ had clearly initiated a campaign with the objective of ruining Harry Potter’s credibility.

Potter hadn’t taken too kindly to that, as Elena had experienced first-hand. After Voldemort’s return, the mysterious connection between them seemed to have tightened, so that her glimpses into his live weren’t restricted to near-death experiences anymore. Instead her mind seemed to be drawn to his whenever he was feeling strong emotions, like frustration with all the people who didn’t believe his story about Voldemort’s rebirth; pain, whenever he was tortured by some sadistic, toad-faced teacher; but mostly anger, time and time again.

These flashes of insight into Harry’s mind caused Elena to experience sudden blackouts, usually no longer than a few seconds. Yet that had proven to be very impractical in her daily life. When you had to live with the permanent threat to have a blackout, no matter whether you were sitting in a lesson, having a meal in the dining hall or were just trying to walk along a corridor full of people; that would inevitably lead to a lot of complications and awkward situations. And of course people had noticed; the last year had irrevocably cemented Elena’s reputation for being a nutcase among classmates and teachers alike.

Whenever she had passed out in public, she had been sent to the school nurse. Elena had spent hours in her office, while the elderly woman had tried to distinguish a physiological source for her symptoms. Of course the matron hadn’t been able to find anything; and Elena would have rather bitten off her tongue than confessed the real reason for her blackouts. She was rather sure that admitting her belief in having a mysterious connection to the Boy-Who-Lived would earn her a permanent place at a mental institution.

So she had remained resolutely silent, as she was questioned in turn by the Head of her House, Professor Anderson, and the Headmistress, Professor Waynwood. The latter had even bothered to summon Elena’s mother for a one-to-one conversation.

But Elena hadn’t even dared to confide in her mother. Catherine Clarke already had enough reasons to worry about her troublesome daughter, there was no need to add another problem to the ever-growing list; and besides she had always been strangely concerned with Elena’s obsession over Harry Potter. It had been totally out of the question to tell her mother about the mind-link she believed to have developed towards him.

Therefore Elena had remained tongue-tied, and very forlorn as a result of that. The last year had been her most miserable term at Ilvermorny yet; and she had gone through a lot of hard times in her five years at the school. Since she had arrived here, her life had only known one direction: straightly downwards. Elena had always felt like she was unavoidably heading towards disaster, to an epic, final crash that would destroy herself and everything in her orbit.

 _And this night certainly marks another step on the way there,_ she thought with a sense of foreboding. Tonight’s dream had been her first full-fledged Potter-Nightmare this year, and that could only mean one thing: _Catastrophe_.    

           


	3. A Nightly Visitor

Gideon de Villiers woke with a start, reaching for his wand by reflex. Something had disturbed the magical wards he routinely raised around himself whenever he went to sleep. Instantly wide awake, Gideon searched for possible assailants lurking in the darkness of his bedchamber, his eyes piercing the shadows of the vast room without difficulty, but finding nothing.

The absence of any visible danger alarmed him even more; he could feel sweat starting to trickle down his back as he fought the urge to jump out of bed and start firing curses blindly. Instead he forced himself to take several calming breaths and closed his eyes, allowing his other senses to scan the room more thoroughly than his sight could. _Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Then what in Merlin’s name has disturbed the wards?_

At that moment a faint knock at the door nearly gave him a heart attack. “Master Gideon?” The reluctant voice belonged to one of his house-elves. _You are getting more paranoid each day._ Gideon took another calming breath. _Get a grip on yourself!_

“Come in, Lookey,” he called. The old house-elf entered, obviously nervous to have disturbed his master’s sleep. “Lookey is very sorry, Master, but there is a man, who asked to speak to Master Gideon.”

“At this hour?” Gideon threw a glance at the nearest window, it was pitch-dark outside. _Still a few hours until dawn,_ he estimated.

“Lookey didn’t want to wake Master Gideon, but the man said it was urgent!” The elf’s voice sounded more high-pitched the more anxious he got.

“It is okay, Lookey, I don’t blame you for this untimely visit,” Gideon reassured him. “Did he say what he wanted or stated his name?”

“The man didn’t want to tell Lookey anything, but he said he had a message from Minister Fudge.” The house-elf seemed immensely relieved not to be blamed for interrupting his master’s sleep.

 _Fudge._ Gideon groaned unwillingly. _The man grows more annoying with every passing day._ He briefly considered the idea of asking Lookey to tell the messenger to go to hell, so he could get a few more hours of much needed sleep. _Better find out what Fudge wants._

Gideon sighted, and then he ordered Lookey to tell his visitor that he would be with him in a moment. As he dressed quickly, he wondered what the minister could possibly want from him in the middle of the night. _Maybe he has decided that Albus Dumbledore is to blame for the latest series of missing people. Or Harry Potter. Maybe both of them conspired together with Sirius Black, the escaped convict._ Gideon allowed his lips to stretch into a sarcastic smile. Sadly, his wild guesses weren’t too far-fetched from reality. _Fudge has gone barking mad after all._

\-------

When Gideon entered the parlour, he found the nightly visitor pacing restlessly in front of the fireplace, in which Lookey had already started a fire. Upon the sound of his arrival, the stranger spun around to face him and greeted him with a stiff bow. “Gawain Robards, at your service, My Lord”, the man introduced himself. Gideon evaluated him with a quick glance. _Auror, mid-forties, slightly overweight. Not a danger._

Gideon gave him a curt nod and motioned for him to take a seat in one of the imposing leather armchairs in front of the fire. Then he sat down across from his visitor and beckoned Lookey closer, to ask him for some tea. “Is there anything my house-elf can get for you?” he asked Robards. _Never forget your manners._ When he declined, Lookey vanished with a pop. “So what is it that brings you here at this early hour?” Gideon enquired, his tone betraying mild annoyance. _Let’s cut to the chase._

“My Lord, I am terribly sorry to disturb you in the middle of the night, but Minister Fudge has sent me with an urgent message”, the auror began in a hushed voice, “ _He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named_ has returned!” He glanced around frantically, as if he expected the Dark Lord to jump out from behind one of the tapestries.

 _Well, that’s… unexpected,_ Gideon mused. Lookey chose that moment to reappear with a loud crack, scaring the hell out of Robards, who almost jumped out of his seat. Gideon pretended not to have noticed, and focused his whole attention to pouring himself a cup of tea instead. “That will be all for now, Lookey.” The elderly house-elf disapparated. Gideon turned back to his guest, regarding him with a stern gaze. “Is that information confirmed?”

Robards started fidgeting nervously in his chair; Gideon could see beads of sweat appearing from his receding hairline. “I… I saw him with my own eyes, My Lord! He was there… at the Ministry, the Department of Mysteries… duelling Dumbledore… Harry Potter…”

“The Dark Lord got into a duel with _Dumbledore_?” Gideon’s skeptical question cut through the auror’s incoherent gibberish. 

“I swear it, My Lord, I was there, and a dozen of my colleagues and the Minister himself… the press was there, too, someone must have tipped them off… by tomorrow everyone in the wizarding world will know!” Robards wrung his hands in desperation.

 _How could this pathetic excuse of a man become an auror?_ Gideon wondered in disgust. “I require all of the facts. I need you to calm down and tell me the whole story straight!” Under his severe stare the man struggled to regain his composure. He gulped audibly, disentangled his fingers and sat up straight. _Well, straighter than before._

“Well, My Lord, apparently _He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named_ set up some kind of… _trap…_ for Harry Potter at the Department of Mysteries; when Potter arrived there, he ran right into the arms of the waiting Death Eaters. They attacked Potter and his friends, the children fought back, and then…”

“The Department of Mysteries is supposed to be highly secured. How could the Death Eaters break in there? And Potter managed to sneak in with a band of kids? He is only a student, for Merlin’s sake!” Gideon’s angry outburst interrupted Robards, who shrank back into his chair, visibly intimidated.  

“I… we don’t know exactly at the moment, but the auror bureau is focusing all our efforts on this investigation, My Lord. You can expect results over the cause of the day,” he said in a weak voice.

“Very well, go on then,” Gideon said, waving his hand impatiently. Merlin, _I need this wretched fool out of my sight._

“At some point…,” Robards paused to clear his throat, “at some point Harry Potter and his friends got reinforcement, some members of the so-called _Order of the Phoenix_ … and then Potter was separated from the group and attacked by _He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named_. That’s when Dumbledore arrived. It must have been a hell of a duel; the whole place is an expanse of rubble…”

Robards seemed to have reached the end of his story; Gideon’s curiosity was nowhere near satisfied, however. “What happened to Harry Potter?” he asked.

“Oh, Potter seemed well enough to me. The Minister wanted to question him, but Dumbledore ushered him away; probably brought him back to Hogwarts, the old fool.” Robards frowned indignantly over Dumbledore’s lack of cooperation.

 _So Potter survived a confrontation with the Dark Lord yet again. What are we to call him now, ‘The-Boy-Who-Lived-Thrice’?_ Gideon pondered, smirking lightly amused. Robards mistook this as a sign of approval; he tried to stretch his mouth into a winning smile, failing miserably.

“Where there any… _casualties_?” Gideon wanted to know.

“Only one. Sirius Black, the murderer who escaped Azkaban; he finally met his well-deserved fate. This proves we were right all along, Black had returned to his old master’s service!” Robards seemed very pleased with himself.

 _Or Black was there with the Order of the Phoenix, trying to protect his reckless godson,_ Gideon contemplated. He didn’t share this thought with his guest, but asked him another question. “Any captives?”

“Yes, My Lord, I almost forgot! We arrested eleven Death Eaters! [Rodolphus Lestrange](http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Rodolphus_Lestrange), [Rabastan Lestrange](http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Rabastan_Lestrange), [Antonin Dolohov](http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Antonin_Dolohov), [Avery](http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Avery_%28Marauder-era%29), [Walden Macnair](http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Walden_Macnair)”, Robards detailed, counting on his fingers, “[Crabbe](http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Crabbe), [Nott](http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Nott), [Augustus Rookwood](http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Augustus_Rookwood), [Jugson](http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Jugson), [Mulciber](http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Mulciber_%28Marauder-era%29)… and Lucius Malfoy, of course.”

The last name caught Gideon by surprise. “Lucius Malfoy?” he asked incredulously.

“Yes, I was as surprised as you are, My Lord. He managed to deceive us for years, can you believe it?” Robards said jittery.

Gideon couldn’t suppress a disdainful snort. _The only thing surprising here is that Malfoy was actually stupid enough to get himself captured. Can’t wait to see how he will try to wriggle out of this one._ For a moment Gideon amused himself by picturing the mighty Lucius Malfoy chained to the wall of a cell in Azkaban.

A slight coughing snapped him out of his musings. “My Lord?” Robards asked cautiously, “Is there anything else you would like to know?”

 _Back to business._ Gideon straightened his shoulders and rose from his seat, prompting Robards to do the same. “No, that would be all, for now. Tell Minister Fudge not to talk to the press before I have approved of his statement. And I would like to be informed about any results the investigation might obtain.”

“Of course, My Lord, I will keep you well informed about our findings”, Robards hurried to assure him.

“Very well, Robards.” Gideon snapped his fingers and Lookey appeared with a pop. “My house-elf will show you to the door.” Robards took his leave, bowing his head again. Gideon watched him retreat. The polite thing would have been to offer his visitor the use of the fireplace to allow him access to the Floo Network, but Robards had exhausted Gideon’s hospitality with his pathetic whining. _Walking a few hundred yards to the end of the driveway won’t kill him._

\-------

When Lookey returned, he found Gideon sitting in his armchair again; he was staring into the flames, lost in thought.

“Master Gideon has hardly touched his tea,” Lookey noticed worriedly, “is it not to his liking?”

“There is nothing wrong with the tea, Lookey, I just think I’m going to need something stronger,” Gideon answered.

“Does Master Gideon want Lookey to pour him some firewhiskey?” Lookey offered.

Gideon couldn’t help but grin; the elf knew him too well. “Thank you, but I can do that myself, Lookey. You can leave now. Try and get some rest.” The elf bowed and disappeared with a pop.

Sighing deeply, Gideon got up to pour himself a large glass of firewhiskey that he downed in one swig. The burning liquid wiped out all remaining traces of fatigue from his body.

Voldemort’s bold move would require immediate action. He could already see the Prophet’s headline, asking whether the government was still in control of the situation. The public would require reassurance or panic would spread like wildfire. _The Council needs to be assembled instantly. But first I have to inform Grandfather, he won’t like this at all._

Gideon groaned unwillingly. The prospect of having to face his grandfather this early in the day did not help to improve his mood. He briefly pondered the idea of having another firewhiskey, but decided against it. He needed a clear head if he wanted to get through this day unscathed.

Taking a deep breath, he squared his shoulders and walked over to the fireplace to take a handful of floo powder. Sighing resignedly, he stepped into the flames, squeezing his eyes tightly shut.  “Royceston Manor!” He was engulfed by roaring green fire.

\-------

When he opened his eyes again he was standing in the grand entrance hall of Royceston Manor, the ancestral seat of House de Villiers. Cursing under his breath he stepped out of the fireplace, shaking the ashes from his clothes. He hated traveling by floo network, but the powerful curses and charms his ancestors had placed upon the castle to ward of intruders would have condemned anyone stupid enough to try and apparate to a slow and painful death.

“Master Gideon!” A high-pitched squeal informed him that his arrival had been noticed. Through the dimly lit vastness of the hall a tiny house-elf was scurrying towards him, as fast as his short legs could possibly carry him. As he skidded to an abrupt stop in front of Gideon he almost lost his footing upon the polished marble floor. Gideon couldn’t remember the name of the elf; after he had moved out of the manor a few years ago, he had quickly lost track of the legions of house-elves working here.    

He shrugged his shoulders and watched as the tiny creature bowed so deep that its long nose touched the floor. _Never mind his name._ Gideon cleared his throat. “I have an urgent message for the Duke. Please notify him of my arrival.”

The mention of his grandfather seemed to frighten the little elf; quivering and stammering he informed Gideon that the Duke was in his study, despite the ungodly hour. Gideon thanked him for information and curtly declined the elf’s offer to lead him there; he knew his way around the manor.

\-------

He found Richard de Villiers, Duke of England, sitting behind his massive oaken desk, attending to some paperwork. Gideon was unable to tell whether he had been working all night long or was just getting started.

Since his grandfather didn’t bother to look up at Gideon’s entrance, he cleared his throat audibly before bowing his head, greeting him with a simple “Your Grace”. He couldn’t recall ever addressing Richard de Villiers as ‘Grandfather’ or ‘Grandpa’; even in his early childhood he had never dared to call him that. Now, at the age of twenty, Gideon still felt intimidated whenever he had to face him.

The Duke didn’t seem to feel the need to acknowledge Gideon’s presence; his gaze was fixed sternly upon the letter he was writing. Gideon was used to this behaviour; it was his grandfather’s preferred method to demonstrate him the insignificance of his existence. _Today we don’t have the time for your little power game,_ he thought bitterly.

“Your Grace, I have grave news to share with you.” _No reaction whatsoever_. “A messenger from Minister Fudge called upon me,” Gideon continued, taking great effort to hide his growing irritation; “apparently the Dark Lord decided it was time to reveal his return to the whole wizarding world.”

His grandfather’s quill never stopped to scratch across the parchment, yet he condescended to give an answer. “I am listening.”

Since the Duke had not bothered to offer Gideon a seat, he remained standing as he reproduced the story he had gotten from Robards, trying to keep his report as short and succinct as possible. When he mentioned that Lucius Malfoy was among the captivated Death Eaters, his grandfather head snapped up to meet his gaze. _So now I finally have your undivided attention,_ Gideon thought defiantly.

“Lucius Malfoy in custody? They had the audacity to send the _Duke of Ireland_ to Azkaban?” His grandfather’s fury was apparent in every syllable he spat; he glared at Gideon as if he was personally responsible for Lucius Malfoy’s capitivity.

Gideon had to fight the urge to flee from the room, to find himself a dark corner to hide, where his grandfather’s burning stare would not reach him. Richard de Villiers had that effect on people. He could reduce any man, no matter how confident, powerful and well-accomplished, to a shaking, stammering piece of misery, only by the power of his stare.

Since he had been a child Gideon had often wondered what the secret behind this particular skill of his grandfather might be. _Maybe some kind of legilimency, combined with sheer will power?_ He was still lacking an answer to that question. Years of practice had led to him building up a level of resistance; he doubted that it was possible for anyone to achieve full immunity.

Gideon straightened his shoulders and forced himself to return his grandfather’s stare. _Don’t look away, don’t even blink! He despises any sign of weakness._ He took a deep breath and carefully kept on an air of indifference. “Well, as Malfoy was stupid enough to openly lead a Death Eater mission that involved breaking into the Ministry and attacking Harry Potter, he hardly left them a choice, wouldn’t you agree?”     

Richard de Villiers did not give an answer, but continued to scrutinize Gideon with a withering look. After what seemed like an eternity, he returned his attention to the unfinished letter on his desk, picking up the quill again. Gideon had to hold back a sigh of relief. _The worst is over. Let’s hear the verdict._

“You will summon the Council immediately. I want all of them assembled within the hour,” the Duke issued Gideon’s orders, his quill already scratching across the parchment again. “And I want a list of suitable candidates for the post of the Minister for Magic. Fudge has served his purpose.”

Gideon waited for a moment; when no further instructions followed, he knew he was dismissed. He bowed and left the study, grateful to be able to escape his grandfather’s daunting presence for a while. _At least I can get rid of Fudge now._

 

 

 

 

 


	4. Catastrophe

Elena had known that she wouldn’t be able to find any sleep that night. So she had stayed where she was, lying on top of Ilvermorny’s highest tower until the stars had faded and morning dawned. As the hours passed by, she felt a restless energy building up within her; coursing through her veins, spreading through muscles and bones until it had permeated every cell of her body. It felt like she had gotten herself completely juiced up on coffee; every nerve was on fire. _It’s worse than ever,_ she realized with dread, yet without real surprise. _It’s always getting worse, never better._

The worst part about her Potter-Nightmares wasn’t the agony or the pain, but what came afterwards. It was that creepy _energy_ that would take possession of her until it got released. Unfortunately Elena didn’t have the slightest hint of influence on _how_ that release happened. It was as if she became a child again, without any control over her own magic, so that it would get triggered accidently by strong emotions. She could try to delay the outburst by seeking to avoid feeling emotions altogether; yet that had proven to be rather difficult, since she lived at a boarding school with thousands of other students, who all seemed to despise her and enjoyed taunting her. Sooner or later she would snap.

Elena remembered the first time it had happened as if it had been yesterday. It was in her first year at Ilvermorny, towards the end of term. Back then her life had been not far from perfect; she had been on top of her class, well liked by her classmates and teachers alike, and she and her best friend Jessica had been inseparable. Her biggest worry had been whether or not the team of her House would win the Inter-House Quodpot Cup. But all of that had changed the night she had first dreamed about Harry Potter.

She had woken completely weirded out; of course she had always had that weird fascination with the Boy-Who-Lived, but dreaming to be him had gone a little too far for her taste. And it had been so vivid, so _real._ She hadn’t been able to recall ever having a dream as authentic as that one. It had taken her a long time to fall asleep again; and when she had gotten up the next morning to feel completely strange and restless, she had blamed that on her lack of sleep.

All day long she hadn’t managed to settle down, unable to properly concentrate on her lessons or the babbling of her classmates. Jessica had noticed and asked her whether she wasn’t feeling well; yet Elena hadn’t been able to describe what was wrong with her. Whenever she had been requested to use magic in class, she had felt an unfamiliar unsteadiness that came with it. Yet disaster hadn’t emerged until her last lesson of the day.

It had been Defense against the Dark Arts; the teacher, Professor Hardwick had taught them the ‘Protego’-Charm. At first they had practiced a dry run, in which Elena had managed to produce a shield at the second try. Professor Hardwick had smiled and praised her in front of the whole class, asking her to demonstrate the capability of her Shield Charm in defense against an ‘Expelliarmus’-Spell. Elena had agreed, confident that she would be able to block the teacher’s spell.

But when she had felt the curse racing in her direction, something inside her had snapped. She had dropped her wand, raising her arms in defense, as if she wanted to block the spell with her bare hands. A pulse of raw energy surged through her and then she had watched in horror as Professor Hardwick flew through the air, crashing hard against the opposite wall. Immediately she had felt extreme exhaustion, the world spinning around her, her knees had buckled and then everything went black.

When she had woken in the hospital wing about 20 hours later, everything had changed. Wherever she went she was met with stares and whispers, people pointing and openly talking about the crazy first-year who had audaciously attacked a teacher. Her friends distanced themselves, even the teachers looked at her coldly.

Somehow her mother had convinced Headmistress Waynwood not to expel Elena from Ilvermorny, but her continued stay at the school came with harsh terms: She was not allowed to use magic in the Defense against the Dark Arts Classes anymore. At first her best friend had stayed by her side; but when that kind of _incident_ had started to repeat itself, Jessica had turned her back on Elena as well, and so her career as a notorious freak had started.

Over the years Elena had observed something like a recurring pattern in her magical _outbursts._ She was always prone to a certain basal level of uncontrollable magic, not as severe as the incident with Professor Hardwick, yet painfully obvious to everyone around her. One of her teachers had even urged the Headmistress to send Elena to a special school for learning-disabled students; but Professor Waynwood had allowed her to stay at Ilvermorny, even when the _really_ scary stuff started to go down.

Whenever that happened, it was usual preceded by one of her Potter-Nightmares. She would awake from it, start to feel that restless energy building up within her and then she would skulk, waiting for the inevitable big bang. Over the years the outbursts seemed to get worse; what she had done to Professor Hardwick was rather unremarkable compared to some of her later episodes.

Like the one time, when one of the boys in her Herbology Class had hit her with a handful of dragon dung full in the face, and Elena had _somehow_ induced a rather large Venomous Tentacula to try and strangle him with her long, spiky vines. The teacher had managed to rescue the boy with some difficulty; scolding the plant for its sudden outbreak of stubborn viciousness. Yet Elena had just _known_ that the Venomous Tentacula wasn’t to blame for the incident; she was.

Or that other time, when she and seemingly every other student of Ilvermorny had spent a hot summer day going for a swim in one of the many small lakes that surrounded Mount Greylock, the mountain on which the school stood.  One of the older students had amused himself and his companions by dragging Elena underwater. She had squirmed and kicked fiercely, and he had released her quickly. But it had already been too late; her control had snapped and suddenly the whole lake had started to bubble like a giant cauldron. Monstrous waves, several metres high, had tossed the swimmers around; slopping over the lakeshores to soak the sunbathers.

Fortunately no student had been seriously harmed; but this time people had realized that Elena had been the source of the flood, even if nobody had been able to tell _how exactly_ she was supposed to have done it. There had been several angry parents and teachers as well, who had demanded to expel Elena from Ilvermorny; but the Headmistress hadn’t done it.       

Yet nothing came close to what Elena had experienced after the nightmare in which she had watched Lord Voldemort rise to power again. After that dream the energy she felt rising within her had been as strong as never before; and she had desperately tried to prevent it from bursting out. She had actually managed to delay the eruption for three days, but then it had happened, in the middle of a Potions Lesson. Her room mate Vivian had decided to ruin Elena’s Pepperup Potion by adding a trickle of nightshade extract, causing the concoction to foam over the cauldron’s brim and all over her hands, leaving the skin burnt and raw.

The pain had been excruciating and a murderous rage had risen within her; she had wanted to make Vivian pay, to hurt her, _crash her_. With a deafening noise a deep crack had appeared in the ceiling of the vault in which their lesson took place; spreading under menacing cracking over the whole roof. As small chunks of debris fell to the ground, panic broke out among the students.

Screaming and shoving they were rushed out by the teacher, just in time before the whole ceiling came down and buried the classroom under ruins. The authorities had initiated an examination of the occurrence, which came to the result that it had been a static fatigue failure of the centuries-old vault. Nobody had even suspected in the slightest that one of the students could be responsible; though Elena had caught Vivian giving her dubious looks time and time again.

Shocked by what she had done, Elena had seriously pondered the idea to turn herself in. If she was capable to accidently destruct a room full of people, who knew what would be next, or how long it would take before she _killed_ someone. But she had been afraid of what would happen to her if she confessed; they would’ve definitely expelled her from Ilvermorny, most likely she would’ve been locked up in some asylum for the rest of her life. And so she had stayed silent, down to the present day.

To a certain extend Elena blamed Harry Potter for her problems. If he hadn’t been such a reckless daredevil, she wouldn’t have to dream about his near-death experiences, and without the nightmares there wouldn’t be any magical outbursts. _Take last night, for example_. Elena was rather sure that Potter had run into a trap that Voldemort had set up for him, when he had blindly blundered into the ministry, to save a guy who wasn’t even there to begin with. _Stupid, careless dunderhead,_ she thought angrily; yet she was remotely relieved that he had made it out alive. She didn’t know what she would do if she had to watch him die one day. _Let’s hope it won’t come to that._

By now the sun had risen above the horizon. Yawning loudly, Elena got up to stretch her protesting muscles. The landscape around Mount Greylock was veiled by dense fog, but up here at Ilvermorny the sun shone brightly from the sky. _Yes, just another beautiful day,_ she thought with blistering sarcasm. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that it was time for breakfast; and so she started to make her way down from the tower.

\-------

Elena was among the first people in the dining hall; since it was a Saturday, most students would sleep in, so that she had a chance to have breakfast in peace and quiet. Lethargically chewing, she grabbed one of the newspapers laid out on the table. At the sight of the headline she almost choked on her toast.

**HE WHO MUST NOT BE NAMED RETURNS**

She skimmed over the lead article; it described the events from last night’s nightmare, yet the author obviously had gotten less information than Elena had herself. He was merely speculating that Voldemort and some of his followers had gained entry to the British Ministry of Magic, and that Harry Potter had been there as well; there was nothing about the epic duel between Voldemort and Dumbledore that Elena had watched last night, no mention of the man who had been killed.

 _Sirius,_ Elena remembered, _his name was Sirius._ Harry had clearly cared a great deal for him; his death was what had prompted him to rashly chase after his killer, who had led him straight into Voldemort’s clutches. _Who knows what he would have done to Harry if Dumbledore hadn’t shown up!_ The thought of Dumbledore filled Elena with awe; she had never seen anything that came even remotely close to the magic he had performed last night. _No wonder they call him the greatest wizard of all time!_ Dumbledore’s reputation had long spread far beyond the borders of Britain; even here in the states his name was said with deep respect.

Elena frowned. Though Dumbledore had been able to keep Voldemort at bay with apparent ease, he had looked immensely _old,_ like he had passed the zenith of his power decades ago. _How is that old man supposed to protect Harry Potter much longer?_ she wondered with slight concern. From her copious reading on the Boy-Who-Lived, Elena knew that he was regarded to be Voldemort’s nemesis by a lot of people; but nothing she had experienced during her countless forays into his mind had led her to believe that Potter possessed any powers beyond the ordinary.  

 _Yet he managed to triumph over Voldemort when he was nothing but a baby,_ she reminded herself. And now, after Voldemort had revealed his return to the public, Harry Potter would certainly have the unwavering support of the British Wizarding Community; even if they had tried to brand him as a liar over the course of the last months. _Yes, you don’t need to worry about Potter; you should rather worry about yourself!_

It was painfully true; even now, sitting alone in the dining hall, having a quiet breakfast without anybody troubling her, she felt that restless energy within her swashing and surging, trying to break free. _This is definitely going to be a hell of a day,_ Elena thought anxiously. She pushed her plate away; she wasn’t hungry anymore. Deciding that she would take a calming bath to try and help herself relax, she got up and left the dining hall.  

\-------

She hadn’t even made it halfway to her House’s quarters, when a piercing, malicious voice called out for her. “Hey Clarke, I heard you had another fit of madness last night. Shouldn’t you be safely locked up?”

Elena felt her body tense. _Not him, I can’t face him today!_ Desperate to escape, she quickened her steps.

“Don’t try and run from me, Baby!” He was chasing after her. Breaking into a run, Elena jogged along a corridor, her heart pounding frantically in her chest. _I need to get away from him!_ She skidded around a corner and came to an abrupt halt. In front of her three of his friends were blocking the way, all of them tall and sturdy sixth-years, sneering at her. She was trapped.

Elena felt the energy swelling within her; desperately she drew a shaky breath, trying to calm herself.

“There you are!” The deep voice of her pursuer was slightly breathless, but triumphant.

Shaking like a leaf, she turned around to face him. “What do you want, Jason?” Her question came out rather squeaky.

He smirked. “Come on, don’t be like that, honey. You know you’re crazy about me!” His entourage sniggered.

Elena felt herself blushing scarlet with embarrassment; he had hit on a raw nerve. It was true; for a few weeks she had fancied herself in love with him. Tall and athletic, with shiny dark curls framing his handsome face and falling into his deep-brown eyes, Jason Martinez was the heartthrob of all girls at Ilvermorny.

It had caused quite a stir, when he had suddenly declared his undying love for Elena a few months ago. Unbelieving and slightly suspicious why the guy, who had every girl in the whole school swooning and begging for his attention, would choose her, the notorious freak of all people, Elena had rejected him.

But Jason had proven very persistent, showering her with compliments and small gifts; he had followed her around, insisting to carry her books and open doors for her, like a true gentleman. He had even defended her against anyone who tried to bother her; and before long Elena had found herself falling for him.

It had been so pleasant to finally _have someone_ , someone who seemed to enjoy her company; someone to talk to. And he had been so _nice_ ; charming and understanding and always interested in what she had to say. It hadn’t taken him long to make her fall head over heels in love with him. For two short weeks Elena had been deliriously happy, enjoying his tender affection and soft kisses; she had been completely convinced that her life had finally taken a turn for the better.

Her delusions had come to an abrupt and brutal ending when she had accidently overheard him talking to some of his friends. Apparently Jason had been dared to bed the freak. Though he hadn’t succeeded in doing that, he had managed to fully and utterly humiliate her in front of the whole school once again, and he had broken her heart in the process.

As she remembered, the pain went through her like a knife, the pieces of her broken heart aching under their scarcely-healed crusts. The energy within her surged dangerously, she was barely able to contain it any longer.

“Why so tense, love? Aren’t you happy to see me?” Jason moved closer, leering at her.

“Leave me alone!” Elena’s voice came out in a strangled sob. She balled her fists in a gesture of helpless anxiety, desperately trying to keep her composure.

Something menacing entered his dark eyes; slowly he took another step towards her. “I don’t think so, love. There was something you promised to me, and I intend to get that.” His voice was rough, his expression wolfish; his companions guffawed nastily.

Suddenly the pain and anxiety Elena had felt were suppressed by burning hatred and a wild fury that seemed to blaze white-hot. She didn’t want to contain the boiling energy anymore, she wanted unleash it, wanted to _burn_ them with her hatred. She had never tried to use her powers deliberately, but now she raised her hands, slightly spreading her fingers, concentrating.

In a flash Jason was on fire. Flames were dancing in his curls, licking at his clothes; he let out a wail of horror. “What are you doing? Stop that!”

But Elena didn’t stop; as if in a trance, she watched apathetically how Jason burned. One of his friends tried to extinguish the fire with gush of water from his wand; it vaporized sizzling, yet the flames burned even brighter. Jason was screaming in agony now, his friends were yelling at her to stop. One of them tried to grab her; she felt a strange _flutter_ in her stomach, and suddenly the boy was burning as brightly Jason.

Slowly Elena came back to her senses. _What am I doing?_ Horrified she watched as Jason’s skin blistered and blackened. She desperately tried to stop _whatever_ she had been doing, but instead of extinguishing the flames that licked on Jason and the other boy, she felt another fluttering notion and instantly all the other boys, who had been looking on helplessly and in terror, burst into flames as well.

The corridor was filled with screams, smoke and the terrible stench of burned flesh. Elena was terrified. _What have I done?_ Fear bubbled in her stomach like acid and then _everything_ was on fire, the boys, the oil paintings and tapestries that adorned the walls, even the stones of the walls were glowing red-hot.

Elena could feel the blazing heat on her skin, but it wasn’t uncomfortable, rather soothing. Then she realized her clothes were on fire as well; she didn’t experience any kind of pain. _Interesting,_ she thought vaguely; shock had dulled every other emotion. _So this is how it ends._

She could feel the energy within her subsiding; everything seemed to blur slightly, her sight as well as her hearing, the screams of the others sounded rather muffled. She felt tired, so tired… Her knees buckled and then everything went black.

   

 


	5. Council Meeting

After he had left his grandfather’s study, Gideon had tasked the first house-elf he came across with summoning the other Council members; there was no need for him to personally send all those messages. By now he deeply regretted that he had started the day with a firewhiskey on an empty stomach; he was feeling slightly dizzy and a nagging pain was throbbing in his temples, indicating that he was developing a splitting headache.

With the intention to find something to eat and maybe some headache potion, he started to make his way down to the kitchens. Of course he could have just ordered one of the countless house-elves, who were serving at Royceston Manor, to go and fetch him his breakfast to one of the dining rooms, but he felt like his legs could use the exercise. Besides, he hadn’t been to the kitchens here in ages.

The manor was still shrouded in darkness; the sun had yet to rise. Wherever Gideon went, artfully crafted gas lamps along the walls sputtered to life with soft hissing noises, illuminating his way. He wasn’t actually in need of their flickering light; since he had lived at this place for almost twelve years, he could have navigated his way through the maze of halls and corridors with his eyes closed.

Originally built sometime in the 10th century, Royceston Manor had been the seat of House de Villiers for hundreds of years. Since his family had been afflicted with the unfortunate tendency to make powerful enemies all along, the domicile had been destroyed a few times; but Gideon’s ancestors had always rebuilt, grander and more magnificent than before. The present building dated back to the 17th century and was considered the most splendid castle in Britannia; even the palaces of the Muggles’ kings and queens didn’t come close to its glory.

 _Though no Muggle will ever set foot in here,_ Gideon mused. Powerful curses and charms wrought in fundament and walls would inevitably kill any Muggle brave or stupid enough to cross the threshold.

As he made his way through endless corridors, the disapproving eyes of his ancestors followed him from their portraits, grumbling because he had dared to disturb their slumber. Gideon paid them no mind, quickening his pace. His grandfather had only granted him one hour before the Council was to assemble, and a quick glance at his watch had warned him that he had about 40 minutes left. _It won’t do to make him wait,_ he thought, feeling slightly strained.

\-------

When Gideon entered the kitchens, the house-elves greeted him with great enthusiasm. About fifty of them were bustling about the enormous, high-ceilinged room; all of them stopped what they were doing to beam at him as he walked past, bowing and curtsying with apparent respect.

“Master Gideon!” The voice calling him was hoarse and gravelly, it sounded almost too deep to belong to a house-elf. Gideon looked around, searching for the source. A very old elf was sitting in an elf-sized wooden armchair by the fire, supervising the work of the others with vigilant eyes.

As he walked over to him, Gideon felt a huge smile stretching across his face. “Hello Barkey!” The old elf beamed at him, struggling to get up from his chair. “No, Barkey, stay seated!” Slightly shocked Gideon took in the appearance of the house-elf, the stiffness of his movements; how he contorted his lined face as he moved, obviously in pain; how frail he looked, so immeasurable _old._  

Gideon felt a pang of nagging guilt. _When was the last time I visited him?_ He wasn’t sure, but thought that it must have been at least three months. Ashamed with himself he got into a squatting position, lowering himself so that their eyes were on the same level. “I’m sorry that I haven’t visited in a while, Barkey. Tell me, how are you?”  

The elf dismissed the question with a wave of his gnarled hand. “Old Barkey is fine, always fine. Master Gideon doesn’t have to visit; Barkey knows that he is very busy.” Gideon opened his mouth to object, but Barkey had turned to one of the other elves, who was just scurrying past them.

“Hey, Cimny!” Barkey barked at the younger elf, “Don’t you want to offer Master Gideon some breakfast?” “And you, whatever your name is,” he addressed another house-elf, “kindly bring Master Gideon something to sit on!”

Grinning amused, Gideon asked Cimny for some bacon and eggs, and thanked the other elf for the large, comfortable pillow he was offered. Then he sat down next to Barkey, listening to the old elf ranting about the lazy, incompetent young generation. “Slow and idle, such a thing was unheard-of in my days!”

Gideon had to smile to himself. Despite of Barkey’s harsh and grumpy demeanour, he knew first-hand that the old elf hid a heart of gold behind his rough façade. During all the miserable, lonely years of his childhood, he had been forced to spend here at Royceston Manor, Barkey had been his only friend and ally. Whenever his grandfather had scolded him, Barkey had been there to try and cheer him up; when his older brother had bullied him, Barkey had protected him. All those years the kitchens had been Gideon’s refuge, whenever he needed a place to hide.

When Gideon had moved to his own house, after he had finally turned 17, he had asked Barkey to come with him. But the old elf had categorically refused to abandon his post as chief of the house-elf staff at Royceston Manor, and so their ways had parted; though Gideon still tried to visit regularly. 

Cimny hurried over, stemming a tray that was overfilled with Gideon’s breakfast. Even though he had only asked for eggs, he could also see a basket with bread buns, still steaming from the oven, little jugs with jam and honey, different sorts of cheese and a plate with a selection of fruits. Cimny had also included a pot of tea and a cup. Now the elf was looking indecisively back and forth between Gideon and one of the tables at the other end of the room.  

Gideon beckoned her closer and motioned for her to set the tray on the floor in front of him. There was no need for formalities here; no one ever came to the kitchens but for the house-elves and himself. And so he was soon having a nice little picnic on the floor, talking to Barkey between bites. _It’s just like old times,_ he thought, reminiscing.

“Barkey heard that Master Gideon called a meeting of the Council,” Barkey croaked in his hoarse voice, “did something bad happen?” Gideon shrugged his shoulders; his mouth was filled with eggs. He swallowed and took a gulp of tea to wash it down.

“The Dark Lord has revealed his return to the living,” he told Barkey. There was no need to keep him in the dark; the house-elf was bound by his race to keep his masters’ secrets and besides, he was fiercely loyal. “Now we have to decide how to answer to this threat, and so the Duke asked me to summon the Council.”

Suddenly he remembered the second task his grandfather had assigned him. “Lookey!” Gideon called; his personal house-elf appeared with a crack, bowing deeply. “Yes, Master?”

“Lookey, I need you to go back to my study and bring me the scroll of parchment with the purple ribbon.”

“Of course, Master Gideon, at once.” With a crack Lookey disapparated, returning after a few seconds to hand Gideon said parchment.

Gideon removed the ribbon and unrolled the parchment to skim over the short list of names. Since he had anticipated and eagerly awaited Fudge’s demise, he had already been brooding about potential successors for weeks. Satisfied, he nodded to himself. “Thank you, Lookey, that will be all.” Lookey bowed and disappeared with a crack.

A glance at his watch told him that he had merely five minutes before the hour was up. Gideon quickly said goodbye to Barkey, promising him to visit soon. Then he left the kitchens and made his way to the Council chamber; this time he covered the distance in a brisk jog.

\-------

When he crossed the entrance hall, he ran into his older brother Henry, who was just descending the grand staircase leading to the upper floors. He greeted Gideon with a smirk and a snide comment. “Running late, little brother? That’s not like you; you’re always such a swot.”

Long experience had taught Gideon to simply ignore any provocation his brother hurled at him, and so he just gave him a curt nod and continued his way. He could hear Henry hurrying after him; Gideon had to fight the impulse to reach for his wand, he never felt safe with his back turned towards his older brother.

His instincts didn’t prove him wrong; when he reached the gilded double wing door leading to the Council chamber, Henry was suddenly next to him, forcefully shoving him aside, in order to be the first one to enter. Gnashing his teeth in anger, Gideon rubbed his aching arm. He watched as the richly ornamented door swung inwards and his brother entered the room at a measured step. Then he hurried after him.

The Council chamber was a wide, round room with a high ceiling crowned by a massive glass dome. By day the sun would awash the room with light, but since it was still dark outside, the light was provided by a thousand candles, flickering in a number of golden candelabras that adorned the walls and the massive wooden table, which dominated the whole room.

At the table the other Council members had already taken their seats; he and Henry were the last ones to arrive. _Well, one is missing,_ Gideon mused as he walked over to his chair, _such a pity that Malfoy won’t be able to make it today._ The thought filled him with grim satisfaction.

As soon as Gideon and his brother had taken their seats, their grandfather rose from his place at the head of the table, opening the meeting with an indifferent expression. “My Lords, my Ladies, I called this Council meeting because the Dark Lord has shown his face to the public.” Though he didn’t speak loud, his voice carried through the room without difficulty. Whenever Richard de Villiers spoke, everyone else froze in absolute silence to hear what he had to say. “Tonight he and some of his followers broke into the Ministry, where he was seen by over fifty people. By tomorrow morning the whole wizarding world will know. We need to initiate damage control right now.”

He turned his gaze on Gideon. “My grandson heard the account of an eye witness. Gideon, please report to the Council.” As his grandfather sat down, Gideon got to his feet, his heart pounding in his chest. He rarely spoke in Council; usually he would just listen to whatever the others discussed. With his twenty years he was the youngest Council member; he knew that he owed his seat to the fact that his grandfather was the Duke of England.

The Council traditionally consisted of the heads of the four Great Houses of Britannia’s pureblood aristocracy and their respective heirs, as soon as they were of age. In ancient times the Council had answered to the king, but since the magical community of Britannia hadn’t crowned a king in centuries, the leadership was passed around from family to family. Currently the presidency was occupied by Richard de Villiers; he had been in power for almost forty years.  

Though the Council had officially been disbanded when the Ministry of Magic had been founded at the beginning of the 18th century, the real power had never changed hands. The Council’s influence extended to every department of the Ministry; it would _allow_ the Ministry to take care of everyday business; but it regulated every major reform, controlled justice and law enforcement, and decided on the appointment of every Minister for Magic. In addition the four Great Houses exerted influence on Britannia’s economy; the de Villiers for instance owned Gringotts Wizarding Bank.

 _Simply put, the people in this room rule Britannia,_ Gideon thought; he was painfully aware that every eye rested on him. He cleared his throat and started to speak, pleasantly surprised that his voice sounded steady and confident. He found it amazingly easy to speak in front of the Council; it was a hundred times more pleasant than having a face-to-face conversation with his grandfather.

As he spoke, he let his gaze wander around the table, regarding each Council member in turn. The head of the table belonged to his grandfather, Richard de Villiers, Duke of England. He was a tall, slender and broad-shouldered man of 58 years. He had kept his head shaven ever since he had started going bald, but grew out bushy golden side-whiskers in compensation. Calculating, intelligent, politically astute and ruthless, he ruled the Council and the whole country with an iron fist. He had dedicated his life and efforts towards maintaining and increasing his House’s wealth and prestige; and so far his endeavours had been remarkably successful. His grandfather’s eyes burned into Gideon’s, but he looked like he was content with Gideon’s performance so far.

The place of honour to his right was naturally taken by his heir, Gideon’s older brother Henry, who returned Gideon’s gaze with a sneer. Though they were quite close in age -Henry wasn’t even a year older than Gideon- there was no love lost between them. Both of them were intelligent, powerful and handsome; both had the indigo-blue eyes of their father, they even looked rather alike, though Henry had always been as dark as Gideon was fair. Yet they had been rivals for as long as Gideon could remember. What had started out as somewhat healthy competition, encouraged by their grandfather, had turned into something more severe as they grew older.

These days his brother ranked among Gideon’s most dangerous enemies. Owing to his position as their grandfather’s heir, Henry possessed power, political influence and wealth. Paired with his ambition, cunning and dubious opinions, that made for a more than disturbing combination; Henry also had well established ties to House Malfoy and other rumored supporters of the Dark Lord.

Next to Gideon’s brother sat their mother, Vivianne de Villiers. When she saw Gideon looking at her, she averted her gaze, studying her hands instead. _That figures_ , he thought, slightly bitter. His mother had always divided her attention rather inequitably between her sons. _She is like an ice sculpture,_ Gideon mused, _beautiful but cold._ She had aged well, her still beautiful face showing almost no wrinkles, despite the considerable amount of trouble and sorrow life had served her with. Her silver-blond hair was coiffed as usual in an elegant knot on the back of her head. 

Everything about her, from her graceful poise about her exquisite clothes to the way she emanated distinguished dignity revealed that she was the daughter of one the Great Houses. Yet House Sinclair had been seriously diminished in the last war; with his mother being the last of her family, she held the title of the Duchess of Wales, but after her death that title would pass to her eldest son and the name Sinclair would fade.

The place to his mother’s right was vacant, a reminder of what had aspired in the ministry the night before. Even in his absence Lucius Malfoy managed to annoy Gideon. _A bloody fool to ever join the Dark Lord in the first place,_ he thought. _Maybe the time in Azkaban will suffice for him to straighten his priorities out._ As long as Gideon had been a part of the Council, the Duke of Ireland had always been the most troublesome of the Council members, clinging to the dark traditions and obsolete ideals of his ancestors with rigid austerity.

Malfoy propagated the exclusion of Muggle-borns from the magic community and demanded prohibition of intermarriage between Purebloods and Muggleborns; his agenda was perfectly in line with the Death Eaters’ creed. Since he was also influential, wealthy and head of one of the Great Houses, he made the ideal candidate for the Dark Lord’s inner circle. After the last war he had somehow managed to extricate himself from all charges; Gideon’s grandfather had urged the Wizengamot to pardon him, mostly because he had thought it inappropriate for one of the Great Lords of Britannia to be imprisoned in Azkaban. _Well, I hope they won’t repeat that mistake,_ Gideon thought.

Next to Malfoy’s vacant seat sat Gordon Adair, the eldest son of the Duke of Scotland. Tall and sinewy, he had an edged face with clear blue eyes, auburn curls and a close-trimmed beard. Gideon didn’t know much about him; Gordon was rather tight-lipped in Council as well as in private.

Next to his son and across from Gideon’s grandfather sat Tiberius Adair, Duke of Scotland. He was tall, but lank and limp, with dark grey eyes and only a fringe of brown hair left. His face had a tightness to it like cured leather, and he had hollow cheeks. The head of House Adair was a serious and rarely-forgiving man with a strong sense of duty and justice. While Gideon respected Tiberius Adair for his competence and valuable objections, he had always felt somewhat uncomfortable in his presence. _At least this one is not a Death Eater,_ he thought uneasily.   

Sitting at his father’s right side and next to Gideon was James Adair, the younger son of the Duke of Scotland. He closely resembled his older brother, though he was clean-shaven. James was as amiable as his father and brother were reserved, and about the same age as Gideon’s brother. Henry and James had been fast friends since their first day at Hogwarts and their friendship had continued after they had left the school. For this reason Gideon deeply mistrusted James, though he had never experienced any actual conflict with him in person.

On Gideon’s other side sat Jaakov Greengrass, Gideon’s uncle by marriage to his father’s sister Evaine. He was a portly, balding man of 50 years, with short dark graying hair and a close-cropped, dark beard that followed the line of his massive jaw. He had been the heir of a small, but internationally positioned bank, which had made him the perfect candidate for marriage to one of the daughters of Richard de Villiers.

As far as Gideon knew his aunt had never objected; Jaakov was polite and easily manipulated, and over the years he had become nothing more than her marionette. Yet the man had never shown any sign of discontent about living in his wife’s shadow; in Council he never had a thought that she didn’t have first and in discussion he would always support his wife’s position.

Said wife was sitting next to him, and next to her father. Evaine Greengrass, née de Villiers, was a black-haired beauty in her mid-thirties. She matched her father in intelligence, determination and commitment to the family affairs as well. As the last living child of Richard de Villiers she had been groomed for managing Gringotts Wizarding Bank, the key source of the fortune of House de Villiers; a task she was simply brilliant at. Under her reign Gringotts hadn’t only absorbed her husband’s bank and consolidated its role as the leading banking company in Britannia, but also started to become internationally successful, with branches in France, Switzerland and Germany.

Gideon had never really been able to figure her out; before he had become a member of the Council she had never taken any notice of him. But then she had been the one who had recognized Gideon’s political talent and advised her father to appoint him as the official contact man between the Council and the Ministry; a task that had been originally bestowed on Henry, who had spectacularly failed due to his lack of discipline and patience. Yet Gideon was sure that his aunt’s support for him had just been a matter of political calculation; behind her well-manicured professional façade Evaine was even colder than his grandfather.

He had reached the end of his report; nobody seemed to have any questions. Of course no one here was surprised about the Dark Lord’s re-emerge; the Council had known of his resurrection for almost a year. But since everyone had agreed that open war was bad for business, it had been decided to keep that information under wraps; Minister Fudge’s campaign of silence and denial had suited the Council just fine. But now this strategy would come to an end, as well as Fudge’s political career.

His grandfather gave Gideon an approving nod; he sat down. Richard de Villiers began to speak, this time he remained seated. “I’m sure we all agree that this incident is going to require certain personnel consequences. Minister Fudge is no longer tenable for us. Gideon has already put some thought into the search for a successor.” He nodded encouragingly towards his grandson.

Gideon unrolled his parchment; there were a few names on his list, but in his eyes there was only one obvious candidate. _Well, besides Albus Dumbledore, but the Council would never agree to that, and he wouldn’t do it anyway,_ he mused. Then he cleared his throat. “Well, in the hard times ahead of us the public will certainly call for a strong leader; someone to inspire the people with confidence, someone to show spirit and determination. I’m thinking of a man who has already demonstrated his ability to hunt and apprehend Dark wizards, the current Head of the Auror Office, Rufus Scrimgeour.”

“An excellent suggestion,” Tiberius Adair declared, “Rufus would make an outstanding Minister, and he would surely receive broad support from the public.” His sons nodded consentingly.

Gideon had expected the Adairs to support his proposal; he knew that Scrimgeour was a close friend of their family.

His aunt Evaine cleared her throat. “I’m sure we all concur that Scrimgeour is a stronger character than Fudge, but what if he proves to be too headstrong to serve our purposes?”

“Yes,” her husband piped up, “would he cooperate with the Council?” As always Jaakov Greengrass followed his wife’s train of thought.

“I can assure you that Rufus is a man of reason,” Tiberius Adair said convincingly. “He would work very closely with us.” He seemed to be rather fond of the idea of his crony becoming the new Minister for Magic.

All eyes focused on Richard de Villiers; in the end it always came down to his opinion. The Duke of England nodded slowly; then he turned to his grandson. “Gideon, I want a meeting with Scrimgeour before noon.”

Gideon nodded. “Of course, Your Grace.” He felt very pleased with himself.

“Naturally we’ll have to find a new Head for the Auror Department,” the Duke went on, “I’m going to talk with Scrimgeour about that.”

Everyone nodded affirmatively.

“Furthermore we are going to continue our policy of silence for now. The lesser the common people know the better; we don’t want a general panic among the public.” More nods from the Council members.

His grandfather turned to Gideon once more. “Gideon, you have to ensure that the ministry keeps the details of that incident under wraps. Make sure that Fudge holds his tongue.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Gideon groaned inwardly. The only way to be completely certain that Fudge wouldn’t say anything would be to cut out his tongue; whenever he came within three yards of a microphone the man started babbling like a foolish child.  

Richard de Villiers regarded the Council members with a piercing look. “I think that would be all for now; I’m sure we all have a busy day ahead of us.”

“Indeed.” Tiberius Adair rose from his seat and his sons followed his example. They quickly said their farewells; then the Adair family hurried from the room.

Gideon could understand their haste; like his own family the Adairs owned an international operating concern, as soon as the wizarding world learned of the Dark Lord’s return, hell would break loose among their business partners.

The de Villiers remained seated and waited for their patriarch to speak up. Richard de Villiers turned to his daughter first. “We need to assure our customers that their gold is safe with us.”

“Of course.” Evaine nodded. “I’ll talk to Kragnar about tightening our security; I’m thinking of additional guards, probity probes, maybe we should add a dragon or two. Kragnar has demanded a new sphinx for the lower levels for years; I’m going to think about that.”

His grandfather nodded approvingly.

“And then we have to ensure our investors that the market is stable,” his aunt continued, “the last thing we need to deal with now is a falling Galleon.”   

“Looks like you are in control of the situation.” The Duke seemed pleased with his daughter’s statement. Next in line was Gideon’s brother. “Henry, I’m expecting your help in contacting our business partners; when they hear the news about the Dark Lord’s return they will get very nervous.”

“Of course, Your Grace.” Henry nodded, but he didn’t look happy at the prospect of spending the day in the company of his grandfather and with actual work for a change. Gideon smirked inwardly.

Then Richard de Villiers turned to Gideon’s mother. “We need to enhance our safety measures at St Mungo’s as well.” The hospital had always been under the patronage of House Sinclair, but since his daughter-in-law was the last living Sinclair, Gideon’s grandfather had seized control about it years ago. He had cut the hospital’s budget and wanted it to become profitable; an endeavor that was eyed with general suspicion.

His grandfather frowned. “This will undoubtedly entail additional expenses; you need to double your efforts regarding our annual benefit gala.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” His mother might not have the slightest idea about business, but she sure knew how to throw a party.

The Duke’s gaze moved to Gideon. “You already know what to do, set up a meeting with Scrimgeour and try to control the media response.”

Gideon nodded. _This is going to be a hell of a day,_ he thought, inwardly sighing.

His grandfather clapped his hands. “Well, you all have your personal assignments for the day” -somehow he always seemed to disregard his son-in-law- “if there is nothing else, I think we can end this meeting now.”

Feeling slightly bewildered, Gideon cleared his throat. “If I may, Your Grace, but what are we going to do about the Dark Lord himself?”

Richard de Villiers narrowed his eyes at him. “What do you mean?”

He already regretted that he had opened his stupid mouth, but now he had to continue. “Now that he has revealed himself to the public, shouldn’t we… I don’t know… _do something_?”  

His grandfather frowned at him. “We just discussed our reaction in detail. Is anything unclear to you?” His tone clearly stated his annoyance about Gideon wasting his time. Henry sneered.

“No, Your Grace,” Gideon had to fight to keep his countenance, “but I thought we would take more _active_ measures against him. We have the required resources, shouldn’t we use them?” As soon as the words had left his mouth he wished he could take them back.

All his family members stared at him like he had sprouted a second head. Then, as if on cue, they all burst into roaring laughter. To see his grandfather laugh was a frightening sight; his laughter wasn’t amused, it contorted his face into a sardonic grimace. Gideon wished the ground would open to swallow him up.

As the Duke abruptly stopped laughing, the others fell silent as well. His grandfather shook his head at him. “Gideon, Gideon, I was highly pleased with your management of this matter so far, and then you have to ruin my positive impression of you with one single question.” He scrutinized Gideon with a withering look. “Of course we won’t openly oppose the Dark Lord, only an idiot would do that. We are going to weather this storm like we always have, let Dumbledore and his army of fools struggle against the Death Eaters, in the end both sides will lose; but House de Villiers will emerge triumphantly, stronger than ever!” He pounded his fist on the table; then he rose from his seat and left the room, the others trailing behind him.

Gideon stayed where he was, sunk down on his chair. He had never been so ashamed to be a member of House de Villiers.

 

 

     

 


	6. Aftermath

Muffled voices reached Elena’s ears; angry, disputing voices. She wished they would be quiet, she needed to return to the soft blackness that had surrounded her; she was still tired, so tired… Annoyingly the voices didn’t go away, instead they became clearer; she started to understand some of the things the people were saying.

“Mrs. Clarke, I have to answer to the other parents as well. This incident cannot be without consequences.” The first voice was serious and austere.

“But Professor, it was clearly an accident. Elena would never hurt someone deliberately; the boys must have attacked her… she must have tried to defend herself!” The other voice sounded desperate, almost pleading, and vaguely familiar.

 _Mum,_ Elena thought, _that’s Mum. But who is she talking to, the Headmistress?_

“Be that as it may, the result remains the same. Four students with severe burns; and we had to move Mr. Martinez to the hospital, the healers say he might retain scars…”

 _So Jason is still alive._ Despite what he had done to her, Elena felt relieved to hear that.

“Elena will apologize to the boys, and you can punish her as you see fit, but please, Headmistress, you have to allow her to stay at Ilvermorny!” Her mother sounded like she was close to tears now.

“I’m afraid Elena’s problems can’t be solved by giving her detention.” Professor Waynwood was insistent. “I’m the Headmistress here, and I carry responsibility for all my students. Elena is a risk I can no longer account for.”

“Does that mean you’re going to expel her?” Catherine Clarke asked, her voice was thick with worry.

“I’m not going to expel her; I simply suggest that you find another school for her next year. Your daughter isn’t safe here anymore, and my students and teachers aren’t safe with her around.”

The words of the Headmistress hit Elena like a bludger. _I’m a bloody freak_ , she thought desperately, _a walking time bomb!_

“Mrs. Clarke,” the voice of the Headmistress became slightly warmer, “I understand your concerns, especially with the current… _situation_ in Britain, but you have to send Elena to Hogwarts, they are better adjusted to deal with students who have her kind of… well, _predisposition.”_

 _Predisposition?_ Elena wondered frantically. _What is this Hogwarts, some kind of asylum?_ She was quite sure that she had heard the name before. _But where?_

Elena listened as Professor Waynwood bid goodbye to her mother; then retreating footsteps indicated that the Headmistress had left. She heard her mother sign deeply.

“You can open your eyes now, honey; I know that you’re awake.” Her mother sounded resigned.

Hesitantly Elena opened her eyes; she was lying in a bed in the hospital wing. Her mother sat on a chair next to, her beautiful face was lined with worry. She had always wished she had inherited some of her mother’s good looks, but all she got was a vague resemblance. Where her Catherine’s features were exquisite and delicately drawn, Elena’s were somewhat dissonant; she thought it was because her nose was too broad and her mouth to big. Where her mother’s hair was smooth and shiny like black silk, her own was a mess of curls. The only thing she liked about her own appearance were her eyes; they were of the most vivid green, in contrast to her mother’s eyes, which were indigo-blue. Elena had always thought that she must have inherited her eye colour from her father. 

“How are you feeling?” Her mother’s anxious question prompted her to conduct a quick check-up on herself. She remembered how her clothes had been burning… but it seemed like there were no injuries. _Looks like the nurse healed me…_ Her mother was regarding her with a thoughtful look.

“I’m… fine, I guess….” Elena wasn’t sure what to say. _How are you supposed to feel after almost burning four people alive?_ “Look Mum, I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to hurt them…” Her voice trailed off. _But you did mean to hurt Jason,_ a reproachful little voice piped up in her head.

“I know you didn’t do it on purpose;” Catherine said reassuringly, “don’t beat yourself up, honey.” She reached out to stroke Elena’s cheek.

She felt her eyes brimming with tears; her mother seemed so convinced of her innocence, the look on her face was full of understanding and love. _What would she say if I told her the truth?_ Fear bubbled in her stomach. What if her mother turned her back on her? Then she would have truly no one, she would be completely on her own. A strangled sob escaped her, and then the tears were streaming down her face; there was no holding back.

“Don’t cry, honey!” Catherine seemed startled by her sudden outburst. She got up from her chair to sit on Elena’s bed, wrapping her arms tightly around her daughter. “It’s okay, honey, you’ll be fine, everything is going to be all right!” Her voice was soothing; her hands were rubbing little circles on Elena’s back. 

Her mother’s attempt to comfort her made it even worse. Elena started sobbing uncontrollably into her mother’s chest. “Nothing is ever going to be fine, Mum!” Her voice was choked by violent sobs, but she needed to get everything out. “I’m a bloody freak! I wanted to hurt Jason, he had hurt me so bad… and there was this energy inside of me… I let it out… and then everything was burning!” Catherine’s arms had tightened around her; she didn’t seem to want to let her go.

“Professor Waynwood was right, Mum, I’m dangerous!” She was weeping bitterly; everything she had been holding back for so long was bursting out now. “That collapsed classroom last year, that was me! And I made the lake flow over… and… I’m a psycho, Mum, I’m losing it!” The last words came out in a muffled scream.

Gently her mother pushed her away at arm’s length; she put a finger under her chin and forced her to meet her gaze. “Listen to me, Elena.” Her voice was soft but insisting. “You’re not crazy, do you hear me? You are… _special.”_ The last word she said with obvious reluctance. “I tried to ignore that for too long; if anyone is to blame for those… _incidents,_ it’s me. I wanted to protect you, but I’m afraid I only made it worse.”

Dumbfounded Elena stared at her mother; she had run out of tears. _I have no idea what she is talking about…_

Catherine had paused for a moment, her eyes staring emptily into space. Now she squared her shoulders and focused on her daughter again. “I’m sorry, honey, I should’ve seen this earlier. But we’re going to fix it now, we’ll return to Britannia and then you’re going to attend Hogwarts.”

Elena’s mind was blurred; she wasn’t able to process her mother’s words. All she heard was the name _Hogwarts_ again. “Please don’t send me to that asylum, Mum!” she burst out.

Her mother frowned; then she suddenly chuckled. “Hogwarts is no asylum, honey, it’s a school!” She sounded slightly amused.

 _A school?! Of course, it’s the British wizarding school!_ Suddenly Elena remembered where she had encountered the name _Hogwarts_ before. _Harry Potter goes there,_ she thought excitedly, _I’m going to meet him…_

“You are going to like it at Hogwarts,” Catherine went on cheerfully, “I promise!”

Elena’s excitement faded as quickly as it had appeared. She didn’t believe for a second that things would be better for her at Hogwarts. _I’m a freak, that’s not going to change just because I go to another school!_ She frowned at her mother. “How can you promise me that?” Her question came out a little reproachful.

Catherine smiled indulgently. “I know you’re going to like Hogwarts because I went there myself. Those were the best years of my life!”

Elena gaped at her mother in utter astonishment. For as long as she could remember, they had lived in New York City; the only times she had been away from there were when she had gone to Ilvermorny. Nothing her mother had ever told her had hinted to the fact that she might have spent her childhood in Britain; she had been sure that Catherine Clarke had never left the states at all. She cleared her throat. “Why did you attend Hogwarts?”

Her mother expression became guarded. “I was born in England; my family lived there. It was the obvious choice of school for me.”

Elena’s interest was piqued. _Mum never talks about her family._ It had been the golden rule of her childhood: _Never ask about the past._ Of course she had broken the rule from time to time; for example when she had asked about her father; who he was and where he had been all the time. She had always gotten the same elusive answer: _We will talk about your father when you’re old enough._ Yet her mother had never specified at what age Elena would finally be _old enough. Maybe this is my chance to get some answers,_ she thought hopefully.

“Your family lived in England?” She tried to keep her question as casual as possible, half-expecting some dry rebuff.

To her surprise her mother answered. “They still do.” Her voice was calm and indifferent; nothing in her demeanour suggested that this was the first time in almost sixteen years that she talked to her daughter about her family.

Elena stared at her mother in confused disbelief. _We have family in England? Mum never said a word about them!_ During her childhood she had often wished for a family. Her mother had been the best mum one could wish for, and Elena had always loved her dearly; but sometimes she had caught herself wishing for _more,_ a father, grandparents perhaps, a sibling… She could feel vague anger rising within her. _All this time we had a family, and Mum never talked about them!_

Elena coughed slightly. “We have family in England?” Her voice betrayed her irritation.

Catherine just shrugged her shoulders. “I severed all contact with them when we left Britannia.”

Elena frowned; she was seriously angry now. “Why would you do that?”

Her mother narrowed her eyes at her daughter’s accusing tone. “That’s a long story. We don’t have time for that now.”

Elena snorted in fury. “I don’t think I’m going anywhere anytime soon,” she said defiantly.

“Actually you are. I’m taking you home with me today.”

 


	7. The Trial of Lucius Malfoy

In the days after the Council meeting Gideon had avoided the rest of his family as best as he could. He had set up the meeting between Rufus Scrimgeour and Richard de Villiers, like the Duke had ordered him to do; but he refrained from personally attending the conversation. His non-appearance earned him a scolding howler from his grandfather, but Gideon couldn’t have cared less; he simply wasn’t in the mood to face Richard de Villiers anytime soon.

He had immersed himself in his work; trying to control Minister Fudge and the media response after the incident at the Ministry proved to be a 24/7 job. Gideon had to use all his carefully build-up contacts to the press and various Ministry employers; he sweet-talked, bribed and threatened, while he desperately tried to avoid thinking about the meaningfulness of his doing. In general, he did agree with the Council’s position; it was certainly right and necessary to try and prevent an outbreak of public panic; yet he couldn’t help but oppose the Council’s motifs.

Gideon biggest problem turned out to be the Minister himself; the man was a nervous wreck. Somehow Fudge seemed to cling to the delusional notion that he could remain in his office if he just managed to get Harry Potter to vouch for him; as if the boy would possibly want to help somebody who had spent the last year publically painting him as a liar and a maniac. Gideon had refrained from telling the Minister that his days in office were numbered, no matter what he did; if the man couldn’t see that himself he had irrevocably lost his grip on reality anyway.

As a result of Gideon’s tireless efforts the story told by _The Daily Prophet_ and the other newspapers remained rather vague; he could congratulate himself on that. Albus Dumbledore had been reinstated as Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, as well as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. Thankfully Dumbledore had refrained from commenting to the press so far; Gideon very much hoped that he would keep his silence. Harry Potter had been quiet as well, but the infamous interview he had given to _The Quibbler_ months ago had been bought and published by _The Daily Prophet_.

Said interview could have easily become a problem, but fortunately press and public seemed to have decided unanimously to make Fudge the scapegoat for everything. Gideon had forced him to admit the security breach at his Ministry and report the mass revolt of the Dementors of Azkaban to the press. Now all that was left for him to do was to draw up Fudge’s statement of his intention to resign, and ensure that Scrimgeour’s takeover went smoothly.

Almost every day Gideon rose to receive dreadful news about the Dark Lord’s machinations; now that he had revealed his return to the public, there was no further need for the Death Eaters to operate in secret. They were openly wreaking havoc, killing Muggles without any regard to the Statute of Secrecy; and they had started to murder their most outspoken opponents one by one. Their most prominent victim was Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Madam Bones had been widely respected and celebrated, her death elicited deep concern and anger among the people; retribution was demanded.

The general mood in the country didn’t bode well for Lucius Malfoy and his Death Eater companions, who had been captured at the Ministry. The trial for the Duke of Ireland was the last in line; all his cronies had been sentenced to life-long imprisonment in Azkaban. Of course it was just a matter of time before someone would break them out; the security level of the prison had been critically lowered after the Dementors had revolted. Yet Gideon couldn’t wait to see Lucius Malfoy being led away in handcuffs.

As a member of the Council Gideon had the right to follow any trial brought in front of the Wizengamot, even though he wasn’t an official member of the court. Usually he didn’t make great use of that privilege; but for Malfoy’s trial he decided to make an exception.

\-------

When he entered the large dungeon in which the Wizengamot used to hold its trials, the wooden benches rising on the sides of the room were already well-filled; apparently Malfoy’s request for a private hearing had been denied. The members of the court, easily recognizable by their plum-coloured robes embroidered with a silver letter _W_ , were sitting at the back of the room; Malfoy’s family, his supporters, press and curious onlookers filled the other benches.

Gideon gazed around the room, looking for a vacant seat. He caught sight of his brother Henry, waving him over. He groaned inwardly. There was no way to openly reject his brother’s invitation to sit next to him, no matter how strained their relationship might have been. _Public image is everything,_ he mused, walking over to where Henry was sitting. He was quite sure that his brother hadn’t saved him a seat out of the goodness of his heart; Henry would want to rub Gideon’s recent humiliation right in his face.

As soon as he had greeted his brother and sat down next to him, Gideon’s suspicion was confirmed.

“Crawled out from under the rock where you’ve been hiding?” Henry whispered to him, his face wearing a friendly smile for the sake of their audience.

He returned the smile even friendlier. “I’ve been working, Henry. You should try that sometime.”

“Bloody swot!” his brother murmured. “Really Gideon, to ask grandfather to stand against the Dark Lord…” He snorted snidely. “I never took you for a Gryffindor in disguise, little brother.”

Gideon ignored the insult. Like almost every member of House de Villiers, he had been in Slytherin, like his brother. He shrugged his shoulders. “I merely disagreed with grandfather’s strategy,” he said quietly, keeping his tone casual. “Last time House de Villiers _emerged triumphantly_ from a war, he lost three of his children.”

Henry dismissed his statement with an impatient waving of his hand. “Aunt Catherine downright asked for it; being an auror and a member of Dumbledore’s fool-corps…” He grimaced in disgust. “She was a bloody disgrace for our family!”

Gideon bit his lips to suppress the angry retort he had on the tip of his tongue. He had adored his aunt, every bit as much as he had idolized his father. Catherine de Villiers had been the only family member capable of showing love and affection; she had deeply cared for her nephew Gideon. Losing her had hurt him even more than losing his father. 

His brother went on mercilessly. “And Father… he was always too soft. Grandfather says that he wasn’t a true de Villiers!” His voice was full of contempt for their sire. “The only true loss our House had to suffer in the last war was Uncle Arthur!”

Gideon had to fight very hard to keep his composure. He knew that his brother hadn’t the slightest idea how their father had truly died; but Gideon had been there, he had seen it happen. He gritted his teeth. “You have no idea what you are talking about!” he hissed, the friendly expression slipping from his face.

Henry narrowed his eyes. “But you do?” He sounded skeptical. “You were five years old when it happened, little brother. You weren’t even capable of understanding what was occurring!”  

The beginning of the trial spared Gideon the need to answer his brother. A side door in the corner of the dungeon had opened and three people entered; two sturdy aurors were dragging Lucius Malfoy towards the chair in the middle of the room. His time in Azkaban clearly hadn’t agreed with the Duke of Ireland. His normally well-kept appearance was disheveled, his clothes were tattered and his long, platinum-coloured hair looked dull and lackluster. When the guards led Malfoy past where Gideon was sitting, he could see that Malfoy looked deathly pale; dark shadows rested beneath his blood-shot eyes.

The aurors shoved Malfoy into the culprit’s chair; the chains dangling from the arm-rests suddenly glowed gold and snaked their way up the Duke’s arms, binding him there. Since iron chains were a complete joke considering what Malfoy was capable of, the aurors remained standing on both sides of him, ready to strike at the slightest hint of revolt.  

Albus Dumbledore rose from his seat on the podium of the Chief Warlock, the room fell silent. As he opened the trial with a serious demeanour, Gideon’s gaze fell on his right hand. He couldn’t help but gasp in shock; Dumbledore’s wand hand was blackened and shriveled.

“What in Merlin’s name has he done with his hand?” Henry breathed next to him.

Whispers swept the room; apparently they weren’t the only ones who had noticed. Dumbledore ignored the murmur, casually shaking his long sleeve over the injury, and gave the floor to Pius Thicknesse, the newly appointed Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.   

As Thicknesse started to read the charges against Malfoy, Henry leaned towards Gideon. “Have you seen that?”

Gideon nodded; he was pondering where Dumbledore might have possibly received such a severe injury. _Maybe he was wounded in that duel with the Dark Lord?_ he wondered.

Henry snorted. “The greatest wizard of all time, my arse! He’s getting slow, the old fool!” His tone was snide and contemptuous.

Gideon had to bite back a scathing remark. In his eyes Dumbledore was the only one who stood between the Dark Lord and his ascent to absolute power. No matter what his brother, his grandfather or anyone else in the Council might have thought about Dumbledore, Gideon was convinced that there would be no victory over the Dark Lord without him.

Since he knew that it would be a waste of effort to discuss his opinion with his brother, he stayed silent, focusing on the trial. Thicknesse had started to call witnesses who were to testify against Malfoy. First in line was the auror Kingsley Shacklebolt. Gideon had never met him personally, but everything he had heard about the man so far led him to conclude that Shacklebolt was one of the more capable people working for the Auror Office. He gave testimony in a deep, calm voice, telling how he had come about Malfoy and his accomplices at the Department of Mysteries and describing the ensuing battle.

When Shacklebolt had finished, Dumbledore asked Lucius Malfoy to respond to the charges. The Duke of Ireland sat in stony silence, refusing to even look at the judges. Dumbledore waited for a moment, then he turned to the judges to ask if they had any questions for the witness. No one spoke up.

The same procedure was repeated with the next witness, a young woman with the name Nymphadora Tonks. Gideon knew that she was the niece of Narcissa Malfoy, but neither Malfoy nor his wife gave even the slightest hint of indication that the witness in front of them was a family member. It was no secret that Narcissa had turned her back on her sister when she had dared to marry a Muggleborn, so Gideon wasn’t surprised about their blasé demeanour. _I guess every family has their black sheeps,_ he mused.

Lucius Malfoy chose not to comment on his niece’s testimony, and again the judges had no questions for the witness. Gideon frowned. _This is getting rather suspicious._ Sure, Tonks was an auror, just like Shacklebolt, but that didn’t explain how they had learned about the Death Eater’s intrusion into the Ministry quickly enough to get there in time to confront them.

Gideon knew that they hadn’t been there in their official capacity; he had seen the Auror Bureau’s report of investigation. The judges were certainly aware of the content of said report as well, so why didn’t they feel the need to ask the witnesses about their source of information? And why had nobody even mentioned the fact that there had been civilians involved in the whole incident, like the ex-auror Alastor Moody, or the werewolf Remus Lupin, let alone Harry Potter and his band of underage students?

In his eyes there was only one possible conclusion. _Someone must have persuaded the judges to accept the witnesses’ testimony without question._

Gideon highly suspected that the person in question was none other than his own grandfather, sitting amongst the judges with an emotionless, cool mien. _I guess he didn’t feel the need to spare Malfoy the shame of being sentenced to imprisonment in Azkaban a second time…_

_And Dumbledore must be playing along with this farce in order to conceal the involvement of his secret society with the whole affair_ , speculated Gideon.

The only issue remaining was Malfoy’s persistent silence. Gideon had expected him to resort to excuses and evasions, to try everything to avert a conviction. He had even allowed his imagination to run wild and pictured the Duke pleading desperately… _This whole thing turned out rather dull and disappointing,_ he thought, vaguely annoyed.

The last witness called forward was Gawain Robards, the very same auror who had been sent by Fudge to inform Gideon about the incident. His testimony didn’t deliver any new insights, and yet again no one spoke up to comment on his statements, neither Malfoy, nor the judges.

Then it was time for the summation, made by Thicknesse. He finished demanding to sentence the culprit to life-long imprisonment in Azkaban. Since Malfoy remained silent when Dumbledore asked him if he wanted to make a plea, the Chief Warlock then turned to the judges and asked them to take the vote. The verdict was consentaneous: _Guilty as charged_.

For a moment the room was so silent one could have heard a needle fall to the ground, then hell broke loose.  

When Lucius Malfoy was led away by the aurors in a flurry of camera flashes, his expression was unreadable. For a moment Gideon almost thought he had seen a trace of relief in his face, but then he blinked and Malfoy had regained his composure, though his usual air of haughtiness seemed rather strained.

“This is absolutely outrageous,” Henry huffed next to him. “I can’t belief they actually dared to send the Duke of Ireland to Azkaban. The nerve of that people!”

“Well, that’s the beauty of our constitutional state,” said Gideon gloatingly. All men are equal before the law; if you break it, you get punished.”

Henry snorted. “If you actually belief that, you are even more stupid than I thought. The law is for the common people, it doesn’t apply to us!” He gave Gideon a snide glare and left to talk to Malfoy’s wife and son, who were currently besieged by reporters.

Gideon shook his head in disbelief. _Why are you still surprised? Henry is a lost cause._


	8. Homecoming

Elena was staring through the window of the cab in awe; in the darkness outside the lights of the city of London flew past. Her mother had kept her word; Elena hadn’t needed to spend one more night at Ilvermorny. In fact, she hadn’t even had to say goodbye to her room mates; someone of the school staff had packed her things and send them to her mother’s apartment in New York.

There they had spent the next weeks packing up all their stuff; Catherine had quit her job as an auror, she had cancelled the rental contract for the apartment, and then they had moved out. And the whole time her mother had unwaveringly refused to answer any of Elena’s questions.

They had boarded a plane to London -her mother had insisted to use No-Maj transportation- and after a seven-hour flight they had arrived at Heathrow Airport, where they had taken a cab into the city. By now Elena didn’t really care where they were going anymore; she just wished that they would arrive soon.

\-------

The address her mother had given to the taxi driver turned out to belong to a rather shabby ruin of a house in an otherwise very posh-looking side street in what had to be one of London’s more exclusive districts.

“Who lives here?” Elena asked her mother as soon as the taxi’s doors had closed behind them. She looked up the façade of the building. The house had definitely seen better days. Originally painted white, the plaster was now grey and showed huge cracks. The windows had gone blind and some were even broken.  

“No one.” Her mother’s reply was short-spoken. She glanced up and down the street warily.

“So what are we doing here exactly?” Elena tried again.

“We’re moving in.” And with that her mother grabbed their suitcases and started to climb the steps leading up to a massive portal. There she sat down the luggage and turned to find Elena still standing rooted to the spot on the sidewalk, staring at her incredulously. She sighed. “I will explain it to you once we are inside. Right now we need to leave the street. It’s not safe to linger outside for too long.” She extended her hand towards her daughter and beckoned her closer.

Reluctantly Elena walked up the stairs and took her mother’s hand.

Catherine smiled at her. “Watch this!” She turned towards the portal and raised her hand to the rugged wood. As soon as her fingers touched the door, the surface blurred and spun as if she had thrown a rock into a lake. Ripples ran over the whole façade, revealing an entirely different sight. The ruin disappeared and left a perfectly mended three-storey townhouse.

“It’s hidden beneath a Glamour Charm,” Catherine explained. “Let’s get inside.” She simply waved her hand and the door swung inwards. They stepped inside an elegant entrance hall, Elena staring in awe.

“A little posh, isn’t it?” Catherine remarked, amused upon her daughter’s astonishment.

 _Posh doesn’t even begin to describe it,_ Elena thought, taking in the plastering-adorned walls and the high ceiling with a magnificent chandelier glimmering overhead. On her left a marble staircase wound its way up to the landing on the next floor; straight ahead a massive white wood double door lead further into the house, closed. Under the large ornamented mirror decorating the wall on her right site was a delicate white wood table, adorned with a lovely bouquet of fresh roses. Elena regarded the flowers with a questioning look. “You just told me that no one lived here.”

“That’s right. Misty must have put them there.”

“Who in Merlin’s name is _Misty_?” Elena asked, slightly irritated by her mother’s mysterious behavior.

Instead of answering, Catherine clapped her hands and called “Misty”.

With a loud crack a small creature appeared in the middle of the hall, startling Elena to the core. “Mistress Catherine!” the creature squealed in a high-pitched voice, its large, bat-like ears flapping excitedly. “Misty knew that Mistress Catherine would return home some day!” Tears flowing from its large, bulging green eyes, the creature stared at her mother with apparent devotion; Elena noticed it was wearing something like a dish towel, wound in toga fashion around its lean body.

“It’s good to see you too, Misty.” Catherine smiled at the creature, who could only be a house-elf. “I see that you have taken good care of the house.” Delighted by her mother’s praise, the elf bowed so low that the end of its long, thin nose almost touched the carpet. “Misty would do anything for Mistress Catherine!”

“I know that, Misty. You have always served me well.” Catherine looked at the house-elf with obvious affection. “Tell me, Misty, has anyone been here during my… absence?” she asked then, suddenly turning serious.

“Young Master Gideon came here, a few years ago.” Misty said, sounding somewhat unsure. “He was looking for you, Mistress. He commanded Misty to tell him about your whereabouts, but Misty didn’t know anything. Master Gideon got very angry with Misty.” At the memory the house-elf started shaking like a leaf. “Misty didn’t tell him anything, Mistress Catherine. Misty swears it!”

“I know you would never betray my trust, Misty.” Catherine said reassuringly. Then she turned towards Elena. “Misty, this is my daughter Elena.”

The elves large eyes filled with tears again. “Misty remembers Mistress Elena, though she was a baby when Misty last saw her. Now she is all grown up!” Her eyes were fixed upon Elena in watery adoration. “Misty is most happy to see her again!”

“Er… it’s nice to meet you.” Elena said. This was getting more confusing by the minute. _Apparently Mum owns a fancy house in London, complete with house-elf. What is next, a loving family waiting to embrace their long-lost daughter, right behind those doors? And who in Merlin’s name is Gideon?_

Her mother must have sensed Elena’s growing irritation, for she turned to Misty and asked her to prepare a light dinner for them. “Nothing to elaborate, Misty, and some tea would be nice. You can serve it in the parlour.”

“Of course, Mistress Catherine! Is there anything else that Misty can do?” The house-elf was almost jumping up and down at the prospect to be of service. “That would be all for now, thank you.” Misty bowed to the floor once again, and then vanished with a crack.

“Come; let’s wait for Misty in the parlour.” Her mother led her to the closed white double door, which swung open at their approach.   

\-------

The parlour turned out to be even more impressive than the entrance hall. The walls were coated with scarlet paperhangings, adorned with an intricate golden pattern; the marble floor was mostly covered by a plush golden carpet. Light came from a gilded chandelier glimmering from the ceiling, and from the flickering fire in the massive fireplace, which was decorated with a handsome, ornate marble mantelpiece. The furniture was exquisite as well, carved from a noble, dark wood.

Her mother had taken a seat in one of the imposing armchairs in front of the fireplace, now she motioned for Elena to do the same. Hesitantly she complied, her eyes still sweeping through the room.

Catherine regarded her with an amused look. “I’m sure that you have a lot of questions by now. Go ahead, ask them.”

A thousand questions were buzzing through Elena’s mind. She gulped and asked the most obvious one. “This house and the house-elf… it all belongs to you?”

Her mother smiled about her incredulous tone. “Yes. In fact, you and I used to life here before we moved to New York.”

Elena couldn’t help but stare at her in utter astonishment. _We lived here? That means I was born in England…_ In front of her mind’s eye she saw their modest apartment in New York; the contrast to this house was grotesque. She cleared her throat. “But how could you possibly afford this? I mean, we never had to worry about money, but we weren’t rich. At least I thought so…,” her voice trailed off.

Catherine just shrugged. “My father gave me this house for my 17th birthday.” Her voice was indifferent.

Elena’s jaw dropped. “Your father gave you a _house_ for your birthday?”

“He also gave me my own vault at Gringotts.” Her mother made a dismissive gesture with her hand. “Back then my family was the richest House in Britannia; they still might be, I don’t know for sure. My father could easily afford anything material, but he wasn’t so generous when it came to showing love and affection for his children.” Her voice turned slightly bitter towards the end.

Elena had no idea what _Gringotts_ might be, or why anyone would want a vault there. She was more interested to learn more about her grandfather. “Is this why you turned your back on him?”

“It was the other way around. He turned his back on me.” Her mother’s voice was calm and steady, her face betraying no emotion.

Cautiously Elena asked another question. “Why would he do that?”

Catherine sighed. “My family belongs to the Great Houses of the Pureblood aristocracy of Britannia. They cling to their traditions and obsolete ideals, and they expect their children to do the same. Even at a very young age I rebelled against my father’s sight of things; he never managed to form me into the well-behaved little lady he wanted me to be.”

She snorted in disgust, before continuing. “He disapproved of my choice of friends; he disliked the line of work I opted for; in short, he didn’t agree with my life at all. And then I did something he couldn’t forgive.” A hint of bitterness shone through her mask of indifference.

Elena debated whether or not she should ask. _She doesn’t look like she wants to talk about it… but I want to know._ She cleared her throat. “What did you do?” She almost expected a brusque rebuff this time.

Her mother’s eyes narrowed. She regarded her daughter for a moment with a thoughtful look before she answered. “I had you.”

Elena was dumbfounded. _I’m the reason why Mum broke with her family?_ She felt tears rising to her eyes. _I’ve always been a misfit, even when I was a baby…_

Catherine leaned towards her and took her hands in her own. “Honey, please don’t cry. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me; and I never regretted having you, not for a single second.” Her voice was calm and reassuring; there wasn’t a hint of a doubt in it. She raised a hand to brush away some of her daughter’s tears with her thumb. “I love you, Elena, never forget that.”

Gulping, Elena blinked away her tears. “I love you, too, Mum.”

They sat in silence for a moment, before a loud crack startled both of them. Misty had reappeared, carrying a tray that was overfilled with sandwiches, a selection of fruits, cookies and a steaming pot of tea. She deposited her load on a carved wooden coffee table close by, and proceeded to pour each of them a cup of tea.

“Thank you, Misty. That will be all.” Her mother said with a smile towards the house-elf. Misty bowed and disapparated.

Absent-mindedly Elena grabbed one of the delicious-looking sandwiches; she was still brooding about her heartless grandfather. “Mum, can I ask you something?”

Catherine had just taken a sip of her tea; she sat the cup down and gave Elena an encouraging smile. “Of course, honey.”

“Why did your father hate me so much?”

Her mother shook her head. “No Elena, he didn’t hate you. He disapproved of me having a child born out of wedlock. That was an unforgivable sin for him.”

Elena frowned. “That’s so… old-fashioned.”

Catherine laughed humourlessly. “That’s how these snobbish Purebloods think, here in Britannia.”

“Why do you always say Britannia? Isn’t it called Britain?” Elena asked, curious. She had noticed her mother using the word a few times already.

Her mother shrugged her shoulders. “In contrast to their No-Maj counterparts, the British Pureblood aristocracy never lost its hold on Ireland; that’s why they have their own name for the state.”

Elena nodded. _That makes sort of sense…_ Chewing on her sandwich, she pondered what her mother had revealed about her family so far. Suddenly a realization struck her. _She only talked about her father; she never said a word about her mother…_ She wondered whether she should ask; her mother had told her to go ahead and ask any question she might have, but she had a feeling that her mother didn’t like talking about her family; that asking further questions about them would cross an invisible line…

Catherine chuckled amused. “What’s on your mind, Elena? I can almost hear the wheels turning in your head.”

“Well,” Elena paused to clear her throat, “I was wondering about your mother. Did she share your father’s opinion about me?”

Her mother’s face had turned serious. “My mother died when I was six years old.” Her voice betrayed no emotion.

Shocked by this revelation, Elena almost regretted her question. “I’m sorry, Mum, I didn’t mean to…” Her voice trailed off; she wasn’t sure what to say.

Catherine just shrugged her shoulders. “That was a long time ago.”

Silence spread between them. Feeling slightly awkward, Elena nibbled on some grapes, just to have an excuse not to look at her mother.

After a while her mother audibly cleared her throat. “What’s wrong, did you run out of questions?”

Cautiously Elena raised her head; her mother was smiling, but there was something strained about her expression. “I thought you might have grown tired of my questions…”

“Nonsense,” Catherine said decidedly, “I meant it when I told you that you could ask me anything.”

Nervously Elena bit her lip. _Should I risk asking about my father?_ She decided to ask a question that she deemed more harmless first. “What about your siblings? You said your father had more children…”

A flash of pain appeared in her mother’s eyes, but after a second she had regained her composure. “I grew up with three siblings, but my brothers died in the war.” Her tone was calm and casual. “My sister is very much alive though; after I had disappointed my father he centered all his hopes on her.”

 _More dead family members… very tactful, Elena,_ she thought to herself, slightly horrified. _No wonder Mum never talked about her family; it must be very painful to even think about them…_ Yet her mother had answered her questions; maybe, just maybe, she would be willing to talk about Elena’s father as well… _No risk, no reward!_ she thought, taking a deep breath. “What about my father? Did he die in the war, too?” That would be the only acceptable explanation for his continued absence in her life.

One look at her mother’s expression told her that she had crossed the line this time. Catherine shook her head. “That’s a long story, Elena, and we’re both very tired and exhausted from our journey.”

Rebelliously Elena opened her mouth to object, but her mother interrupted her. “I promise that we’ll talk about your father soon, but not today.” Her tone was adamant.

Before Elena could say another word, her mother had called for the house-elf, who appeared with a crack. “Misty, be so kind and show my daughter to her room.”

“Of course, Mistress Catherine,” the elf squealed in its high-pitched voice. “Just follow Misty, Mistress Elena.” It beckoned Elena to follow her. Reluctantly she looked at her mother; she was gazing into the fire with an unreadable expression on her face.

“Goodnight, Mum,” Elena said quietly, turning to follow Misty.

Catherine’s reply was almost inaudible. “Goodnight, honey.”

\-------

Elena followed the house-elf to the entrance hall, where Misty started to climb the staircase. On the first floor they turned into a long hallway; the sound of their steps was completely swallowed by the thick golden carpet that covered the floor. The scarlet walls were decorated with large oil paintings in heavy golden frames; some of them were showing landscapes, from others distinguished-looking people glanced down at them; whispering among themselves. Elena regarded them with interest; of course there had been magical portraits at Ilvermorny, but these people were most likely long-dead relatives of her mother.

Suddenly Misty stopped to open a door. “This is Mistress Elena’s room!” she squealed. Elena entered, staring in awe. Apparently the interior decorator of the house had a preference for scarlet and gold; in this room the tapestries covering the walls were golden with scarlet decorations, while the carpet was scarlet, as were the curtains in front of the windows and the drapes hanging from the enormous four-poster bed. The furniture was made from the same noble, dark wood she had seen in the parlour. She noticed that the house-elf had already brought up her trunk; it was sitting on the floor next to the bed.

“Misty hopes the room is to Mistress Elena’s liking,” the elf squealed. “If there is anything Mistress Elena should need, just call for Misty!”

“Thank you, Misty,” Elena said; the house-elf bowed and disappeared with a crack. Suddenly feeling very tired, Elena walked over to her trunk and opened it to find a pair of pyjamas. Then she realized that Misty hadn’t shown her the bathroom. Shrugging her shoulders, she slipped into her sleeping clothes. She was far too exhausted to search for a bathroom now. When she climbed into the gigantic bed, she almost drowned in the masses of blankets and cushions covering it. Despite the anxious thoughts buzzing through her mind, she fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.  


	9. Welcome to London (Part I)

Elena awoke very early in the next morning, as abruptly and completely as if someone had yelled in her ear. Confused, she looked at the scarlet drapes of the canopy above her, until she remembered what had happened the day before.

_I’m in London. Mum owns a fancy house in London._ She still wasn’t able to wrap her head around the fact that her mother had lied to her all those years. _Well, technically she didn’t lie to you, did she?_ Elena huffed indignantly. _No, she didn’t lie… she just blatantly refused to share the fact that we have family here in England… I wonder what else she might be hiding from me._

Elena still felt exhausted, but somewhat restless at the same time. _It’s almost as if that freakish energy is building up again,_ she thought, slightly concerned. _It can’t be, I didn’t have one of the nightmares…_

She rolled over on her side and closed her eyes, trying to will herself back to sleep again. It was hopeless; she was far too worked up to be able to doze off. _I might as well get up to try and get some answers from Mum._

After she had forced her way through the masses of pillows and cushions surrounding her; she found that someone must have already cleared out her trunk for it was nowhere to be seen. All the books she had brought with her from New York where neatly stored on the shelf by the desk. _Probably Misty,_ Elena thought, feeling a little overwhelmed. She looked around her room. _No closet. Where the hell are my clothes?_

Further inspection revealed that the room had a concealed door across from the one that led to the hall. When Elena opened it, she couldn’t help but stare in awe. It didn’t lead to a closet, but to a bathroom. Yet she had never seen a bathroom like that.

The colour theme, which she had already noticed in parlour, hall and in her bedroom, had been continued here; the whole room was held in a light shade of gold, with scarlet accents here and there. The massive tube was scarlet-coloured as well; it looked more like a little swimming pool than a tube. She was pretty sure that the faucets were made from solid gold. _Who are these people?_ Elena wondered again. _Mum said that her family was rich, but this is just… a little much…_

Then Elena remembered the original goal of her expedition. _Finding my clothes!_  She returned back to the main room, where a heavy curtain at the wall caught her eye. When she pulled it open, she sighed resignedly. _Of course there is a walk-in closet._ Misty had stored all her clothes neatly on hangers and in drawers.

Sighing again, Elena chose a simple jeans and a loose-fitting shirt, and headed back to the ritzy bathroom to take a quick shower.

\-------

When Elena left her room, she realized that she had no idea how she was supposed to find her mother in this maze of a house. Then she remembered the house-elf. “Misty?” She called quietly, feeling a little stupid.

**CRACK!**

Misty appeared out of nowhere and startled her to the core. “Good Morning, Mistress Elena!” the house-elf squealed happily, beaming at her with delight.

“Merlin, you scared me half to death!” Elena said, adrenalin rushing through her veins.

Misty abruptly lost her happy grin. “Misty is most sorry to have scared Mistress Elena!” The elf’s expression showed deep distress mixed with slight worry. “Does Mistress Elena wish for Misty to go and punish herself?”

“No! No, that… won’t be necessary,” Elena said hurriedly, shocked by Misty’s drastic reaction. _Merlin, house-elves are touchy!_ “I just wondered if you might be able to tell me where I can find my mother?” she asked the elf.

“Oh, Misty is sorry,” Misty squealed, “but Mistress Catherine has already left the house!”

Elena frowned. “What do you mean, where did she go?”

Yet again the house-elf looked frightened. “Misty is very sorry, but Mistress Catherine didn’t tell Misty where she wanted to go!”

“Well, that’s not your fault, Misty,” Elena tried to reassure her. _Where the hell did Mum go?_

Would Mistress Elena like Misty to make her some breakfast?” The elf asked, almost pleadingly.

“Erm… yes, if it doesn’t cause you too much trouble?” Elena said, a bit unsure; but Misty was literally jumping up and down with delight.

“Misty is most happy to be of service!” And with that the house-elf offered Elena one of its little, long-fingered hands and apparated them to the kitchen.

\-------

A little dizzy from the unpleasant sensation of apparating, Elena looked around. They were standing in a vast cellar vault; floor, walls and ceiling were made from stone. The only light came from torches flaring along the wall and the fire burning in the massive fireplace, which was large enough to roast an ox whole. _Not so much luxury down here,_ she thought.

Misty was already bustling around the elf-sized counter that stretched across the whole length of the room. “What would Mistress Elena like for breakfast? Pancakes? Waffles? Bacon and eggs?”

“Erm… Pancakes would be nice.” Elena took a chair at the long table, which could have seated at least fifteen people comfortably. Her thoughts returned back to her mother and she frowned in annoyance. _I can’t believe that Mum just leaves me here at this strange house without any explanation whatsoever, where she is going and when she plans to be back! She could have left a note at least!_

When Misty set a large plate of delicious-looking blueberry pancakes in front of her, Elena found that she wasn’t even hungry anymore. Yet she forced herself to smile at the elf. “Thank you, Misty. This looks fantastic!” The elf gleamed with pride at the compliment; she bowed and went to clean the kitchen.

Elena tried a bite; it tasted amazing. Her appetite returned and she emptied the plate; thinking. When she was done, her decision was made. “I’m going for a walk,” she announced.

Misty looked very distraught at her words. “Misty thinks that Mistress Catherine wouldn’t like for Mistress Elena to leave the house,” she squealed in her high-pitched voice. “It’s not safe outside!”

Elena huffed. “I just want to take a look around. What do you think is going to happen? Voldemort jumping out from behind a trash can to kill me?”

Misty let out an ear-piercing wail of horror and dropped the frying pan she had been scrubbing. “Mistress Elena mustn’t say that name!” Her large, bulging green eyes were filled with terror.

Elena quickly apologized. “Sorry, Misty, I forgot that you people here are too afraid to even say his name. Whatever. I’m going out!” She left the kitchen and went to get her parka. Misty followed her all the way to her room and back to the front door, desperately trying to convince her not to leave the house.

In the end Elena had enough. “I don’t care what you think, Misty. Go and scrub some pans!” And with that she slammed the door right in the face of the annoying house-elf.

\-------

When she was standing on the steps in front of the house, thick fog swirling around her, a tiny voice in her head kept telling her that Misty might have a point. _Mum did say that is was dangerous out here…_ With a shrug Elena pushed the doubts from her mind. _Mum can’t expect me to stay locked up in the house all day long, while she is running around doing who-knows-what,_ she thought defiantly and started to make her way into the heart of the city.

\-------

As long as her fury about her mother’s behavior lasted, Elena kept walking fast, not really paying attention to where she was going; when it wore off, she got slower. Suddenly she realized that she had no idea where she was or how she had gotten there.

She stopped in the middle of the sidewalk; the shopping street around her was slowly coming to life. On her right side a large bookstore was just about to open its doors; across the street a sales clerk was setting up a sign, which promised his customers ‘ _The best coffee in London!’_

Elena pondered the idea to get a cup, when her gaze fell onto a small, dingy-looking pub next to the bookstore. She paused. _Something is not right about it._ She couldn’t say what about the nondescript façade had attracted her attention; in fact, everyone around her didn’t seem to notice it at all.

Suddenly realization hit her. _The No-Majs can’t see it!_ Excited, Elena read the crooked sign dangling on a chain above the door. _‘The Leaking Cauldron’._ Her interest was piqued. _Let’s have a look at some British wizards and witches!_

She took a deep breath and entered the bar.

\-------

Unfortunately the inside of the pub was just as dark and shabby as its façade had threatened; and for a moment Elena wondered whether it would be better to leave straight away. The few customers were eying her curiously, but the old bartender gave her a toothless smile. _Don’t be such a coward! Come on, nobody is going to bite you!_ Elena told herself. She straightened her shoulders and went over to the bar, returning the bartender’s smile.

“What can I do for you, Miss?” Up close the bartender looked even older; countless wrinkles lined his face and his bald head. Elena ordered a coffee and took a seat at the bar. The other customers had returned their attention to their respective conversations and beverages.

Sipping carefully at her coffee, Elena watched the coming and going from the corner of her eye. Almost everyone wore cloaks, No-Maj clothing seemed to be the exception. Most people arrived by floo; they greeted the bartender and left through a door at the back of the bar. She noticed that they didn’t seem to return. _The bar must be some kind of transit station,_ she thought. _I wonder what lies behind that door._

Another wizard stepped out of the fire. He was richly dressed, all in black, what made for a hard contrast with his pale face and white-blond hair. _He seems to be about my age,_ Elena reckoned. _Probably goes to Hogwarts, too._ The bartender made quite a fuzz about him; greeting him with a bow as deep as he could possibly manage with his crooked back, and personally leading him to a table not far from where Elena was sitting.

“What might I bring you today, My Lord?” Even the bartender’s voice had changed; he sounded subservient and groveling, and Elena thought she could distinguish a faint trace of fear in his whole conduct. She couldn’t help but wonder. _‘My Lord’? Who is that guy?_

“Nothing at all. I’m waiting for a friend.” The boy spoke in a slow drawl, his tone incredibly bored.

“Of course, My Lord, of course. As you wish.” Under a series of bows the bartender retreated behind the counter.

Elena’s cup was empty. She pondered her options.

_A: Return home. – Nope, not quite yet._

_B: See what’s behind that back door. – Hmm, interesting…_

_C: Stay a little while longer to spy on the pompous blonde. – Even better._

She smiled to herself and ordered another coffee.

 


	10. The Doppelganger

“Blaise!” The demanding voice of his mother rang through the manor. Blaise Zabini cursed under his breath. He was already running late and not in the mood for a run-in with his mother this early in the morning.

“Blaise! I want to talk to you!”

 _But I don’t want to talk to you,_ Blaise thought grimly. Only one flight of stairs, a turn to the left and a long corridor and he would be out of her reach for the day. He quickened his path.

He made it down the stairs and along the hall, but when he reached out to open the door to the parlour, he heard the lock click shut. He was trapped.

Blaise clenched his fists in a gesture of helpless fury. He could hear his mother’s heels clicking along the marble corridor; she was closing in on him.

“Blaise! There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

He took a deep breath and forced his hands to relax. Then he turned around to face his mother, his face wearing a well-practiced expression of polite indifference. “Yes, Mother?”

Even at the age of forty, Elizabeth Montrose’s status as the most beautiful woman in the country was unchallenged. Her exquisite face was a mask of ivory perfection, her flawless skin without a single wrinkle indicating her true age. Her long auburn hair was carefully arranged; as was the elegant dress that hugged every curve of her body.

“I was hoping you could have breakfast with me today.” She gave him her most dazzling smile; fit to bewitch every man who still had breath in his body.

Blaise had acquired immunity long ago. “Unfortunately I already have other plans,” he informed her calmly.

“I’m sure you can change them.” His mother’s voice was sweeter than honey, but her blue eyes shone cold.

“No,” he stated simply.

Every trace of false friendliness disappeared from her features. “I want to talk to you about the wedding.”

Blaise prepared himself mentally. “You can spare yourself the effort to inform me about the tedious details of the ceremony, because I won’t be in attendance. Not this time.”

For the first time in his life, he saw his mother at a loss of words. She opened and closed her mouth a few times, while glaring at him in furious disbelief. Then she found her voice again. “What do you mean, _you won’t be in attendance_?”

“I think I made myself perfectly clear, Mother,” Blaise said, his voice still calm, “if you would be so kind to unlock the door now, I need to be on my way.”

Something dangerous flashed in her eyes. “You need to be on your way? To _where_ exactly?” She watched him closely, like a snake watches her prey, ready to strike.

 _Careful now, Blaise,_ he warned himself. “I’m surprised that you would actually care enough to ask,” he said coldly, “but if you have to know, I’m meeting Draco.

His mother’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Do you think I’m stupid?” Her voice was a wild hiss. “I know full well that you are going to see _her_!” The last word she spat at him like venom.

Blaise froze in shock. _She can’t know, can she? How could she have possibly found out?_ He tried to keep his composure. “I have no idea what you are talking about.” It didn’t sound convincing.

She started circling him, watching for a sign of weakness. “It was a fire, they told me, a tragic accident…” She huffed in outrage. “A fire, Blaise, _fire_ … it was a little obvious, wouldn’t you agree?”

Blaise panicked. _She knows! What do I do? I need to warn Bianca, she has to leave right now! But first I have to get out of here…_ He cleared his throat. “You are starting to get delusional, Mother.”

She lunged at him, grabbing the front of his jacket. “You faked her death and hid her right under my nose!”

 _Well, that makes two of us,_ Blaise thought sardonically, cold fury rising in his stomach. Once, his mother’s angry outburst would have intimidated him, but now he stood a head taller than her and could handle her easily, even without using his powers.

He met his mother’s burning glare to find a hint of uncertainty mingled with the fury. _Looks like she can sense it, too._ The thought filled him with bitter satisfaction. Firmly he removed her hands from his collar. “I guess we are even then,” he told her, his voice calm again.

Then he turned around, concentrated and punched his fist against the locked door, which exploded into an inferno of flames. Blaise straightened his shoulders and turned back to his mother. She had frozen on the spot; her eyes fixed on the little flames still flickering across the door frame.

“And one other thing, Mother,” Blaise said, perfectly composed. Her gaze snapped back to him; he met it with a daunting stare. “If _anything_ should happen to her, nothing will save you from my wrath.”

After one last threatening glare at his mother he walked right through the smoking door frame and over to the fireplace in the parlour, where he grabbed a handful of floo powder.

“The Leaking Cauldron!” Green flames swept him away.

\--------

Blaise stepped out of the fireplace and shook the ashes from his clothes, taking a moment to clear his head. Draco’s letter had stated that he needed to talk to him about an important matter; but after what had just transpired, Blaise had half a mind to send him a message that he wouldn’t be able to make it. _I need to see Bianca and convince her to leave,_ he reasoned, _Draco’s antics can wait._

“Blaise! Over here!”

Blaise stifled a frustrated groan. Draco was already waiting for him, waving him over commandingly.

 _Must be some really pressing issue if Draco sodding Malfoy manages to show up punctually,_ he thought sarcastically. Now, after Draco had noticed him, he had no choice but to listen to whatever Draco wanted to tell him. _This better be quick!_

Blaise resigned himself to his fate and walked over to where Draco was sitting, carefully putting on a mask of indifference. “Draco.” He greeted Malfoy with a curt nod and took the seat across from him.

Draco gave him an indignant frown. “You’re late, Zabini.”

Blaise just shrugged. “Mother held me up. Apparently my presence is required at another wedding.”

Malfoy smirked. “Who is the lucky guy?”

“No idea. I don’t bother to learn their names anymore,” Blaise responded, vaguely amused. “One would assume that at some point people would understand that marrying her is like signing your own death warrant, yet they keep lining up.”

Draco chuckled. “Maybe we should introduce her to Potter.” A sardonic glitter appeared in his pale eyes and he started to rant.

Blaise sighed inwardly. _There he goes again._ Ranting about Potter was Draco’s favorite pastime; he could spend hours going on about his faults and flaws. Over the years Malfoy’s obsession with the Boy-Who-Lived had actually become a running joke in Slytherin House. _Not that anyone would ever dare to make a joke at Draco’s expense right to his face,_ Blaise thought. _But I don’t have time for Malfoy’s Potter-rant today, so let’s get to the point!_  

As he debated how to best steer Draco’s attention back to the matter at hand, Tom, the old bartender, turned up and interrupted Malfoy mid-sentence. “My Lord, now that your friend has arrived, would you like to order?”

 _That’s my chance!_ Blaise thought. “Actually, I don’t have much time today, so nothing for me,” he told the bartender, before turning to Draco. “Is there something you wanted to order, Draco?”

Malfoy was visibly fuming about the interruption. He shook his head and dismissed Tom with an impatient gesture. “What do you mean, you don’t have much time?” he asked Blaise, looking seriously pissed. “What do you have to do, select the flower arrangements for the wedding?”

Blaise suppressed an unnerved groan. It was typical for Draco to assume that everyone would just drop everything and come running when he called. _Yes, because that’s what people do. He is a Malfoy, after all._ He sighed. “Look Draco, I have some errands to run. You said it was urgent and I came. So tell me, what is so important?”

Draco frowned; Blaise could tell he was annoyed. People usually tended to tell him what he wanted to hear, but as his best friend Blaise enjoyed the privilege of free speech.

For a moment Malfoy regarded him with a measuring stare from slightly narrowed eyes. Then he looked around, as if to make sure that nobody was listening, and beckoned Blaise closer. “It’s about _Him,_ ” he began, his voice a secretive whisper, “he has decided to give me a special task.”

Blaise, taken aback, paused. _The Dark Lord, giving Draco Malfoy a task? A 16-year-old, not even out of school yet? And that after Lucius failed him and was sent to Azkaban?_ He cleared his throat. “What kind of task?”

Draco shrugged. “I don’t know the specifics yet. So far he has only informed me that he chose me to carry out an important task for him at Hogwarts,” he drawled, feigning indifference.

Blaise couldn’t help but stare at him; he wasn’t sure whether Draco wanted him to offer congratulations or condolences. “Well, in that case…,” he paused to moisten his lips, “I guess I wish you the best of luck.”

“Thank you, Blaise, I’m sure I will proof worthy of his confidence,” Draco said pompously, a poised smile gracing his lips.

 _You better do that, or this might be your last year at Hogwarts,_ Blaise thought, slightly concerned; yet he managed to force a rather convincing smile in response.

“So,” Draco continued in a casual tone, “can I count on your unwavering support?”

Blaise was stunned by surprise. _A Malfoy never asks for help... He is afraid, that’s why he summoned me here!_ He wasn’t overly eager to risk his reputation, and -most likely- his life as well, by being the Dark Lord’s errand-boy. _However, it wouldn’t be well-advised to blatantly refuse Draco…,_ he contemplated.

Malfoy was waiting expectantly. Blaise forced another smile. “You will always have my support, Draco. You are my best friend.” _Or as close to a friend as a Slytherin can be,_ he added in his thoughts.

His answer seemed to please Draco; he nodded contentedly. Then he smirked again. “Well, Zabini, do you want my opinion on those flower arrangements?”

Over Malfoy’s shocking revelation Blaise had all but forgotten how their conversation had started. _Bianca!_ He remembered with a start. _I need to get rid of Draco somehow…_ “Erm… actually… I don’t think that’s going to be necessary…”, he rambled.

Malfoy’s smirk deepened. “Come on, Blaise, you know my taste is far superior to yours!”

Blaise frantically wracked his brain for a way to politely decline without annoying him again, when Draco’s attention was suddenly drawn by something outside of Blaise’s field of sight.

Draco frowned, his eyes narrowing. “Is that… _Daphne_?” he asked, his voice full of incredulity.

 _Yes!_ Blaise thought in triumph. Daphne Greengrass would be the perfect distraction. _Draco won’t even mind, when I leave him alone in her company!_ He smirked inwardly. Malfoy’s infatuation with Daphne even rivaled his obsession over Potter.

Draco was still staring. “What is she doing here alone? And what the hell is she _wearing_?” He sounded disgusted.

Curious, what could possibly compel Draco to talk about Daphne in such a derogatory manner, Blaise turned around. There was no Daphne to be seen. A little unnerved, he turned back to Draco. “You are starting to see things, man,” he said, chuckling cautiously.

There was a sharp intake of breath from Draco. “It’s really her! I can’t believe it! Look, Blaise, over there!”

Obediently Blaise turned to look to where Draco was pointing. There was a black-haired girl at the bar, just about to pay for her drink; yet her hair colour was the only thing remotely resembling Daphne Greengrass. Her hair was a mess of wild curls and she was wearing the most horrible collection of Muggle clothes he had ever seen. _That’s not Daphne. Never ever._

Blaise had just begun to worry about Malfoy’s sanity - _Maybe being chosen by the Dark Lord has some serious side effects on one’s mental health?!_ – when the girl got up and turned to leave. His breath caught in his throat. _It’s Daphne! It’s really her!_ There was no doubt. _The nose, those cheekbones… But why would she try to disguise herself like that?_

“Daphne! Hey, Daphne!” Draco shouted, getting to his feet.

The girl gave no indication that she had heard her name being called; she was swiftly walking towards the back door.

Not used to being ignored, Malfoy went after her. “Daphne! Don’t you just walk away from me like that!” He grabbed her arm.

In one swift motion the girl whirled around, ripped her arm out of Draco’s grip and slapped him hard across the face. “What the hell do you want?”

 _Okay, it’s definitely not Daphne._ Blaise was sure now. Daphne Greengrass wasn’t running around looking like a Muggle, slapping people -especially not Draco Malfoy- and she didn’t have a faint American accent.

By now Draco and the Daphne-lookalike were at the centre of attention. Everyone was staring, eager to see how Draco Malfoy would handle being slapped by a girl in public; even old Tom had stopped wiping glasses. Slowly Blaise got up and moved closer to Draco, ready to keep him from doing something rash.

Draco was visibly struggling to regain his composure; the girl’s hand had left an angry red mark blossoming on his left cheek. “You… you are not Daphne…,” he said lamely.

“Oh really,” the girl retorted scathingly, “thank you so much for reminding me!” She was almost a head smaller than Draco, but her fierce temper made up for her lack of size. _And that hair certainly adds a few inches as well,_ Blaise thought, mildly amused.

“You looked just like her… from over there…” Draco had obviously still not managed to find his scattered wits yet.

The girl huffed indignantly. “Please, does that line ever work?”

Blaise could not help but chuckle about Draco’s expression of outraged disbelief.

“You think I’m trying… _to chat you up_?” With his fury, Malfoy’s customary air of haughtiness had returned. He looked her up and down, his disparaging gaze wandering from the girl’s mop of curls over her sloppy Muggle outfit to her worn-out shoes. “I’m afraid you are not quite my _type_ ,” he drawled arrogantly.

The girl’s self-assurance remained unscratched. “Pity,” she responded cheekily, “since you’re such a darling!”

Malfoy literally growled. “Who do you think you’re talking to?”

“No idea,” the girl retorted, “but you definitely are a stuck-up prick!”

Draco fumed with fury, his usual aristocratic pallor blemished by ascending redness; he clenched his fists. “How dare you talk to me like that! I’m Draco Malfoy, and you should show me a little respect!”

The girl starred at Draco through narrowed eyes. From what Blaise could tell from her expression, she had never heard the name _Malfoy_ in her life. _Interesting_ , he thought. _I wonder where she came from._

Then the girl shrugged her shoulders. “You know what? I need to get going. It was such a _pleasure_ to make your acquaintance, Your Highness.” And she gave Draco a mock bow, turned on the spot and left through the door.

Draco turned to Blaise, his eyes blazing fury. “Can you believe the nerve of that bitch? To talk to me like that! Filthy Mudblood!”

Blaise tried hard not to laugh. “Well, I can’t say I’ve ever seen a girl who was immune to your _charm_ , Your Highness,” he said, indicating a slight bow.

Malfoy glared at him. “Just shove it, Zabini! You know what? I’m going home now. You have fun with your flowers.” He walked over to the fireplace and vanished in a swirl of green flames, without wasting another look at Blaise.

He shrugged, turned to the bartender to apologize curtly for all the commotion, and left the bar for Diagon Alley.

\-------

When he stepped out into the small, walled courtyard behind the pub, Blaise found that someone was already there. He recognized the mob of black curls immediately. _The doppelganger!_ She was intensely studying the wall that hid the secret passage to Diagon Alley; but apparently she had no idea how to open the portal.

He cleared his throat. “Are you planning on staring at the wall all day?”

Startled, the girl whirled around, her wand at hand. Blaise quickly evaluated the threat she was posing. _Looks like she couldn’t harm a fly. On the other hand… she did hit Draco, without any visible fear about the consequences… Could be more dangerous than she appears… or plainly stupid._ He decided to stay out of her arm’s reach, for now. 

She was watching him alertly, her wand pointed at his chest. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Where did you leave your _charming_ friend?”

He couldn’t help but grin. People rarely dared to stand up to Draco, and Blaise always enjoyed it immensely when it happened. _Guess that counts in her favour._

“His Highness has returned to his castle. He decided he had enough of the peasants for the day,” he told her seriously, his eyes teasing.

An amused smile played around the corners of her mouth, but she didn’t lower her wand. “So, what is it that you want?” she asked him, her gaze still wary.

 _If she is that afraid of an unarmed guy she is holding at wand-point, she can’t be very dangerous,_ Blaise judged. He raised his hands to indicate that he was unarmed. “I’m merely here to visit Diagon Alley, there is no need to hex me. Or hit me, since that appears to be your preferred method of attack.” His tone was unconcerned, but he watched her wand cautiously. He highly doubted that she was capable to overcome the runes of protection burned into his skin, even if she managed to hit him unawares, but Blaise had learned to leave nothing to chance. _Just in case._

Slowly, she lowered her wand. “I… I’m not sure how to open the portal.” Having to acknowledge her ignorance seemed to annoy her.

Carefully Blaise took a step closer to her. “You aren’t from Britannia, are you?”

“What makes you think so?” Her tone and expression were guarded.

“Well, for a start, you have an accent; it’s faint, but it’s definitely there. Then you apparently have never been to Diagon Alley, or heard the name _Malfoy_ … As he listed the signs that revealed her as a foreigner, she seemed to get nervous, fingering her wand threateningly. Blaise pretended not to notice and went on. “And lastly, I have never seen you at Hogwarts, and I would have noticed you there, trust me.”

He wasn’t lying; Blaise had an eye for beauty. And apart from her slightly dishevelled appearance this foreign girl was beautiful, though not in the traditional way. Up close, she didn’t resemble Daphne Greengrass as much as she had in the dark, smoky pub, but a vague resemblance was still there. _There is something about the form of her nose, the curve of her cheekbones…,_ he mused.

Her face lacked the perfection of Daphne’s features, her nose and mouth both a hint too broad for traditional beauty; yet that somehow made her face more interesting. The most prominent distinction between Daphne and the stranger were the eyes though; while Daphne had the typical indigo-blue eyes that ran in her family, the eyes of the girl in front of him were of the most intense, fascinating green.

 _Exquisite,_ Blaise thought. That face paired with her fiery temper would have definitely earned her a place right at the top of his list of desirable conquests, if she had attended Hogwarts. Realizing that he had been staring, he decided to give her a winning smile and turned on his charm. “I’m sorry; I didn’t catch your name earlier. I’m Blaise Zabini, and who might you be?”

The girl was still eying him suspiciously, but seemingly decided that giving away her name wasn’t too dangerous. “My name is Elena, Elena Clarke.”

Blaise had never heard of any wizards named Clarke. _So she is no distant relative of Daphne…,_ he thought. _Muggleborn, most likely._ Not that it mattered to him, he had never let bloodstatus dictate him which girls he was allowed to pursue and which not.

He gave the girl another smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Elena. Since you don’t know how to open the portal, I assume this is your first visit to Diagon Alley. May I ask what you plan to do there, all alone?”

She frowned at him. “You may not.”

 _Tough customer,_ Blaise thought, inwardly smirking. _Even better, I like a challenge!_ He put on a slightly worried expression. “Look, Diagon Alley is no safe place for a girl alone. Not anymore.”

The girl still wasn’t impressed. “I can take care of myself,” she told him, self-assured.

Blaise chuckled, indicating amused skepticism. “I doubt it.”

Like he had expected, her temper flared. “What is it to you, anyway?” Her gaze was furious, her eyes like green fire.

 _Yes, Blaise, what is it to you?_ The little voice in his head reminded him of his priorities. _Bianca!_ _Mother knows about her, she might be in danger. And here you stand, trying to chat up a girl you just met. You just can’t help yourself, can you?_ Blaise tried to reason with the pestering voice in his mind and simultaneously formulate a smart response for the girl. He came up blank.

The girl sensed her victory. “Well, thank you so much for your concern, but if you could just show me how to open the portal, I’ll be on my way. And you can mind your own business.”

“As you wish.” Blaise indicated a slight bowing of his head, accepting his defeat. _For now._ Then he drew his wand, found the right brick and tapped the wall three times. The bricks twisted and turned, and formed into an archway opening onto Diagon Alley. He took a step back, pocketed his wand and winked at the amazed girl. “After you,” he said, ever the gentleman.

 


	11. Welcome to London (Part II)

Staring in awe, Elena stepped through the archway and onto a cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight. It was lined by a multitude of shops; she noticed a cauldron shop, an apothecary and a store of Eeylops Owl Emporium. Yet all the shop windows were concealed from view, pasted over with large _Ministry of Magic_ posters. Most of them gave the reader disputable helpful security advice, but others bore moving black-and-white photographs of Death Eaters known to be on the loose. In this shopping street it was painfully obvious that the wizarding community of Britannia was currently at war.

“Not what you expected?” The deep, slightly sarcastic voice belonged to Zabini, who had just stepped onto the street as well. Elena turned towards him, noticing the archway shrinking back to a solid wall behind him. Tall, athletic and dark-skinned, Blaise Zabini reminded her of panther, lurking for prey. _The way he holds himself, the way he moves… like he is always ready to jump in for the kill,_ she thought.

During her run-in with Mr. I-am-Draco-Malfoy-and-you-should-kiss-my-ass, Zabini had stayed in the background, watching as silent and obscure as a shadow. Though he was dressed as richly as the pompous git, it had been plain to see that Malfoy ranked higher on the social ladder; from the way the bartender had treated him, to the casual manner of Malfoy ordering him around.

 _Maybe Malfoy told him to follow me in order to… take revenge?_ Elena almost had to laugh about her own paranoia. But after what had just transpired in the pub she couldn’t help but feel suspicious. _Zabini is too polite, too flirtatious and far too… pretty..._ She struggled with the obvious understatement.

Malfoy had been pretty in his own right, with his angular face and silky platinum-coloured hair; if it hadn’t been for his ill-mannered haughtiness she would have probably found him handsome.

Zabini however was another matter entirely. With his high cheekbones, the strong jaw line, his perfect nose and full lips he was almost breathtakingly beautiful; there was no arguing about that. His most intriguing feature was the light-blue colour of his eyes, contrasting hard with his dark skin. A hint of amusement flickered through those intense eyes, he had caught her staring. “So where are you headed? I could accompany you,” he purred, never giving up.

 _No wonder, with that face I doubt he ever hears a ‘No’…,_ Elena thought, feeling slightly dazed. Normally, she would have felt very flattered to enjoy the attention of a guy as hot as him; but after the whole Jason-experience she couldn’t help but feel slightly suspicious when a guy seemed too nice to be true.

Besides… there was something about Blaise Zabini that send a cold shiver down her spine. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it; it was like the vague feeling that had told her to give the nondescript façade of _The Leaky Cauldron_ a closer look; now her subconscious warned her that Zabini was… _dangerous._ Feeling rather awkward, she cleared her throat. “Seriously, I’m not interested in your company.”

For a moment Zabini regarded her with a quizzical look under slightly raised eyebrows. Then he shrugged his shoulders. “Well, in that case, I won’t bother you with my presence any longer. Goodbye, Elena. It was nice to meet you.” He gave her a slight bow and strode away along the street, his dark cloak flapping around his legs. Elena stared after him until he vanished around a corner.

Part of her wished she had accepted his offer to accompany her. The shopping street made a bleak, uninviting impression; she noticed a lot of boarded up windows, apparently business wasn’t going so well under the imminent threat Voldemort was posing. The Death Eaters were watching her from their posters; shaking their fists, laughing madly and yelling nasty slurs she couldn’t hear. A few yards down the street a hawker had set up his shabby stall; he was a dubious-looking man, selling dubious-looking stuff. A cardboard sign was pinned to the front of his stall:

**Amulets – Effective against Werewolves, Dementors and Inferi**

_Doubtful,_ Elena thought, and hurried on. The few people she met eyed her with harried, anxious looks; scurrying about their business with frightened expressions. Nobody seemed to be shopping alone.

 _Misty was right, you shouldn’t have left the house on your own,_ a timid little voice piped up in her head. _And you definitely shouldn’t be walking around this shady street, go home right now!_

**BOOM!**

The windows of a store about five yards in front of her exploded in an inferno of broken glass and flames. Half a dozen hooded figures had appeared out of nowhere in the middle of the street; their faces obscured by daunting masks. Their appearance caused blind panic among the shoppers; the air was full of screams and smoke; the hawkers bundled up their stalls and disapparated, while people were running for dear life, shoving and trampling.

Elena got shoved, too; she fell to the ground and cut her hands on the glass shards covering the cobbles. As she struggled to get back to her feet, she saw two Death Eaters coming out of the bombed-out store, dragging a limp figure in their midst. They disapparated with their prisoner; while more of their companions emerged from the smoke, their arms stacked with small boxes. As they all disapparated, one man lingered behind, glancing up and down the street. Elena noticed that he wasn’t wearing a mask.

When his gaze fell onto her, a hungry look appeared on his face. “What have we here? A little girl, all alone…,” he said in a rasping bark of a voice and started to make his way in her direction.

Terrified, Elena whirled around and sprinted into the nearest alleyway, frantically searching for a place to hide. _There has to be something! A bush, a hallway, a trash can at least …_ But there was nothing to hide her from her persecutor; all the doors she rattled at were locked. All too fast she had reached the end of the alleyway; she was surrounded by unscalable walls from three sides.

Shaking with dread she turned around. The man was sauntering towards her; now that he had her trapped, he didn’t seem to be in a hurry.

Fear bubbled in her stomach like acid and she reached for her wand. Unfortunately, the man was faster. With a casual flick of his own wand he had disarmed her. “You aren’t going to need that, sweetie,” he rasped, pulling back his hood. He was a big, rangy man with matted gray hair and whiskers, whose black robes looked uncomfortably tight. His filthy hands had long yellowish nails and the stench of dirt, sweat and blood coming from him almost made Elena gag.

She flinched away from him, slowly retreating until she felt the cold stone wall pressing against her back. The man grinned, exposing two rows of pointed teeth. “Don’t you look delicious, sugar.” He licked his lips slowly, obscenely. Then he closed the gap between them and grabbed a handful of her hair, sniffing like a dog.

Elena whimpered in horror; she wanted to push him away, punch him, do _something_ , but her body had frozen in shock. Frantically she tried to reach for the source of that strange energy within her. _Maybe I can burn him, like I did with Jason…_

“Leave her alone!” The deep and angry voice came from behind the man’s back. Growling, he turned around to face the intruder, still holding on to her hair.

Blaise Zabini was standing in the alleyway, his face wearing an expression of utter disgust and fury.

The man barked with laughter. “This is none of your business, boy… Shove off!”

Zabini didn’t even flinch. “You take your dirty paws off her instantly, Greyback, or I will send you straight to hell, where you belong.” His eyes burned with hatred, showing no sign of fear.

“You can’t threaten me, boy,” Greyback rasped, “you aren’t even old enough to use a wand.”

“Oh, I won’t need a wand to deal with you.” A sardonic glitter appeared in Zabini’s light eyes. “Believe me, I’m going to enjoy to see you burn.” He stretched out his hand; palm up, to show little flames dancing around his fingers.

Despite her shocked state Elena was surprised. _How can he do that?_

Greyback seemed intimidated by Zabini’s display; he let go of her hair and raised his hands in surrender. “I don’t want any trouble with you, bender.”

Zabini almost looked disappointed. “Leave!” he ordered Greyback in a commanding voice. Greyback disapparated on the spot.

\-------

Elena was shaking like a leave. After Greyback had vanished, Zabini had insisted to accompany her back to _The Leaky Cauldron_ , what had been a good idea, because after a few steps her legs had collapsed under her. He had half supported, half carried her all the way back. As if she was watching through a fog, Elena had observed him opening the archway again, helping her into the bar and onto a chair. Now he put a glass with an amber liquid in her hand. “Here, drink this. It will help…” His voice was soft, yet demanding.

Not in any condition to argue or simply care, Elena took a sip. She immediately regretted it. Her mouth felt like it was on fire, the liquid burning down her throat and in her stomach; she thought she might actually be able to spit fire now. “Ugh! What the hell is this?”

Blaise smirked amused. “Firewhiskey.” He surveyed her with an observant look. “So, how are you feeling now? You still have a hint of green around your nose.”

Elena regarded his question with a shrug of her shoulders. She did feel better; the firewhiskey had burned away all traces of numb- and dizziness from her body. Now a dozen questions were buzzing through her head. She asked the first one that came to her mind. “That… _man_ … who was he?”

“Fenrir Greyback. He is a werewolf, and one of the worst among them. The Dark Lord is using him as a weapon, to create fear and panic among his enemies; he threatens to send him for the children of those who dare to oppose him… he is very… _effective._ ” Blaise grimaced in disgust.

Elena shuddered. She could still see Greyback’s pointed teeth in front of her, smell the stench of blood that had surrounded him. _Sending someone like him after little children…_ The thought send a cold shiver down her spine. Quickly she asked another question. “So he is a Death Eater?”

Blaise made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “I seriously doubt that the Dark Lord would ever let _something_ like Greyback become part of his inner circle… he’s certainly useful to him, a tool, nothing more.”

“He was afraid of you.” It was a statement, not a question.

A hint of a smile played around the corners of his mouth, but it didn’t seem to reach his eyes. “He should be.” His tone was indifferent.

Elena frowned. “Why? He said you weren’t old enough to use a wand…”

“I wouldn’t need a wand to deal with the likes of Greyback.” There was not a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

“I don’t understand…” The confession frustrated her. She was sure that Greyback’s sudden respect for Blaise had been a result of that fire-thing he had done with his hand. _What did he call him? Bender?_

Blaise smirked. “One more hint that you didn’t grow up in Britannia.”

“Well… You were right about that,” she admitted reluctantly.

His smirk deepened. “I usually am. So, where are you from?” Curiosity was written all over his face.

Elena hesitated, arguing with herself. _You don’t really know this guy… yes, but on the other hand he might just have saved my life… he has earned a few details._ “New York,” she told him. “My mother just moved us back here.”

Interested, Blaise leaned towards her. “Moved Back? So you are originally from Britannia?”

“Apparently. I just found out recently… my mother is not very forthcoming when it comes to her past.” Elena scowled, remembering her irritation about her mother’s dubious behavior.

“Interesting… Do you have any other relatives here?” His tone was casual, but his gaze monitored her reaction very closely.

Elena narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “You want to know which side my family is on, right?” _Unfortunately I don’t have the slightest clue… Mum’s family could belong to Voldemort’s most devoted followers, for all I know._ The thought filled her with unease.

She thought she had seen a hint of disappointment in his gaze, but in the blink of an eye he had put on his mask of indifference again. “Well, you said your family name is _Clarke_ … I’ve never heard of any wizards by that name. And that means, if you have indeed any relatives here, chances are that they’re not relevant in this war.”

“Not relevant?” Elena frowned. “You mean they are probably No-Majs.” _Stupid, arrogant Pureblood,_ she thought.

Blaise just grinned. “We call them Muggles here.”

“Mug-less?” Elena asked, vaguely annoyed. _Of course the British need to have their own word for it._

“Muggles,” Blaise corrected. “Most likely.”

 _Well,_ Elena thought, _after what Mum said about her family, I’m rather positive that they are Purebloods, and the worst kind of them… but there is no need to let him in on that…_ She decided to turn the tables. “What about you? If you are worthy to hang around with a _Malfoy_ , your family is certainly high and mighty. So why do you even bother talking to me?”

Blaise pretended to ponder her question. “I don’t know… curiosity perhaps,” he told her with a serious expression. “Mingling with the peasants, you know…”

Elena smacked him hard on the arm. Blaise burst into laughter; when she glared at him, he laughed even louder. It was astonishing, how his face became yet more beautiful when he smiled. Elena had a hard time to keep herself from blatantly staring.

“Just kidding,” he assured her, still grinning. “My family is not that _high and mighty_ , as you called it.” When he mentioned his family, his expression became serious again.

“And yet you are friends with that… _Draco person_.” Elena couldn’t keep her words from coming out in an accusing manner.

Blaise didn’t seem to mind. “I am,” he acknowledged, shrugging his shoulders. “Draco is not that bad, you just didn’t meet him on his best day. And you caught him off guard; he really thought you were Daphne. He and Daphne… well, he’s got a thing for her, you know.” He gave her a suggestive wink.

Elena quickly averted her eyes. He was flirting in such a casual, inconspicuous manner, that she found it hard to tell whether he was actually interested in her or just making polite conversation. _The question is, do you want him to flirt with you?_ Elena didn’t have an answer to that. She risked a careful glance at him.   

He had leaned towards her again, intensely studying her face. “You _do_ somewhat resemble her, especially from afar, it is actually kind of unsettling…” His voice trailed off.

Elena let her hair fall into her face, in a desperate attempt to hide the blush that had spread to her cheeks. _Merlin, does he have to look at me like that?_ She tried hard to regain some composure. _Say_ _something, anything…_ She asked the first thing that came to her mind. “Who is she? That _Daphne_ …” _Maybe she is some distant relative…_

Blaise eyed her thoughtfully. “Daphne Greengrass,” he stated. “Her grandfather is Richard de Villiers, Duke of England. You must have heard about _him_.” His eyes had slightly narrowed.

Elena shook her head. “Nope, doesn’t sound familiar.”

“You are kidding, right?” Incredulity was written all over his face.

“I’m not kidding!” She raised her shoulders in a gesture of helplessness. “Look, Blaise… I just moved here. I don’t know any Malfoys, or Greengrasses, or Delieverer… or whatever the last name was…”

“ _De Villiers!”_ Blaise corrected decidedly, slightly aghast at her ignorance. “Never dare to call any of them _delieverers…_ people have been killed for less!”

Unsure, whether his horrified expression and tone were feigned, Elena chuckled uncertainly. _Note to self: Don’t mess with anyone who might belong to the Pureblood nobility…,_ she thought. _Well, you already botched that with Malfoy, didn’t you?_

Suddenly Blaise’s eyes seemed to lose focus, like he was no longer seeing her right in front of him, but something else entirely. His face distorted as if he was suffering agonies, his body convulsing in pain.

“Blaise, what’s wrong? Blaise!” Terrified, Elena reached out to him, hesitating to make contact. When she finally dared to touch his hand, he wrested his hands away from her, as if she had burned him.

“Don’t touch me!” His eyes were focused on her again, his gaze burning with hatred so intensely that Elena instinctively shied away from him. _What just happened? This is surreal!_

“What sick game are you playing?” Blaise yelled at her. “ _Who are you?_ ” His voice sounded anguished, desperate. Elena noticed that he was clutching his left forearm with his right hand, as if something was hurting him there.

Utterly confused, she felt herself tearing up. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Blaise didn’t bother to answer her question; instead he leapt up from his chair and fled the room without wasting another look at her.

Elena was petrified, choking back tears. _What the hell just happened? He saved me from the werewolf, listened patiently to my boring life story and then he just went all crazy and berserk in the blink of an eye…_

The old bartender and his other customers were staring at her, but quickly averted their gazes whenever she tried to make eye contact. In a haze Elena got up and left the pub, desperate to get home and find her mother; her mind was in a state of complete and utter devastation. _Looks like Britannia is full of freaks… so you should fit in nicely here._

\-------

Somehow, she managed to find her way back to her mother’s townhouse. When she walked into the entrance hall, she heard voices coming from the parlour. Her mother was talking to a male stranger. _Typical,_ Elena thought. _I desperately need to talk to her, and she has a visitor._ Curious who the man might be, she tiptoed over to the door, trying to make out details of the conversation.

**CRACK!**

For the second time in the day Misty had her startled to the core. “Mistress Elena can’t go into the parlour,” the elf squealed, “Mistress Catherine has a visitor!”

 _This house-elf is annoying as hell!_ Elena thought, cursing under her breath.


	12. A Ghost from the Past

The cemetery was shrouded in dense patches of fog. Gideon suppressed a shiver of unease and wrapped his cloak more tightly around his shoulders. He always came here early, shortly after dawn, in order to avoid running into other visitors.

After his father’s death, when he had been five years old, his grandfather had drummed into him that visiting the dead was a waste of time and effort, and publicly mourning them a sign of weakness. At the funeral, he had watched as they lowered the coffin into the ground, without shedding a single tear.

Yet his father’s grave remained the place where Gideon felt most connected to him; and so he still visited regularly, even though he made sure not to be seen doing so. And every year he came here to honour the anniversary of his death.

As he made his way through rows and rows of moss-covered tombstones, he felt the ghosts of the dead watching him, hidden in the swirling mists. _You always had a vivid imagination,_ he scolded himself; quickening his pace.

Finally Gideon could make out the shadow of the crypt of House de Villiers looming in front of him. _It might be a sign of weakness to mourn the dead,_ he thought bitterly, _yet their memorial has to be the largest and most imposing of them all, hasn’t it?_

The magnificent crypt was a monument to his family’s need for splendor. Built a few centuries ago, the crypt was the final resting place of generations of de Villiers. _One day my name will be added, too._ The thought made him shiver.

He made his way around the crypt to where his father’s name was engraved into the stone. When he turned around a corner, he suddenly stopped dead in his tracks. Somebody was already there.

The stranger was wearing a long, dark cloak, with the hood pulled up to obscure his face. Watching the stranger on high alert, Gideon went through the short list of people, who might possibly have a reason to be here, in his mind.

_Grandfather? – No. He made his thoughts on mourning the dead abundantly clear._

_Mother? – Definitely not. The day father died was probably the happiest day of her life._

_Henry?_ He almost laughed at the notion of his older brother visiting their father’s grave.

Suddenly the stranger reached into his cloak, pulling out a wand. Hurriedly Gideon gripped his own wand, but the stranger only waved his to conjure a bouquet of flowers, that he laid down at the foot of the crypt.

_Well, that rules out Aunt Evaine as well._ Gideon frowned. Apart from himself, there had been only one other person who had truly mourned his father’s death. His aunt Catherine. _It can’t be her,_ he thought. _That’s impossible._

Catherine de Villiers had been pronounced dead years ago. She had been a well-known auror – much to her father’s annoyance. After the Dark Lord’s fall she had played a vital role in the capture of his most loyal and dangerous followers. And then, one day -out of the blue- she and her infant daughter had disappeared without a trace.

Gideon had always thought that something must have happened to them; that someone had killed them and buried their bodies. _She would have never left me behind without a word._ He was sure of it; beside his father, his aunt Catherine had been the only one who had ever cared about him. _She even promised to always be there for me when Father died,_ he remembered like it had been yesterday.

Suddenly the stranger turned around to face him, as if he had sensed his presence there. “Edward?” a female voice asked, vaguely familiar.

People had always told Gideon how he was the very image of his father. For all he knew, they were right; he did look like the late Edward de Villiers. _But whoever puts flowers at my father’s grave should know that he died fifteen years ago,_ he mused, his heart hammering in his chest.

The stranger came closer; Gideon pointed his wand at her, ready to stand his ground. “Don’t come any closer!” he threatened.

“Gideon!” the woman exclaimed; her voice was full of recognition.

_Where have I heard this voice before?_ he thought frantically.

The stranger pulled back her hood. As surprise hit him like a bludger, he let his wand sink slowly. “Aunty Cathy?”

The woman in front of him looked considerably older than the aunt he remembered, with countless tiny wrinkles etched into her beautiful face. Yet there was no trace of grey in her long, smooth black hair, and her eyes were still the same; indigo-blue like his own.

She smiled brightly at him, almost prompting him to throw away his wand and ran into her arms. Then his survival instincts kicked in; he raised his wand again. “How do I know it’s truly you?”

Her smile didn’t falter. “For your fourth birthday I gave you a book about King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. You liked the stories so much that you ran around waving a toy sword for weeks; you said you didn’t want to be a wizard, you would rather be a knight!” Her voice was thick with emotion.

Gideon smiled at the memory. “And then Henry told our grandfather… who gave me a stern lecture about what it means to be a de Villiers,” he added.

His aunt nodded. “He always was a killjoy.” They both had to laugh. Gideon put his wand away and wrapped his arms around his aunt; it felt like the most natural thing in the world. For a while they just stood there, holding each other; too absorbed in their reunion to feel the burning glare from a livid pair of eyes watching them from the mists.

When Gideon let her go, he wasn’t ashamed to have some tears in his eyes. He wiped them away. “You don’t know how good it feels to see you again,” he told his aunt, his voice slightly hoarse.

“You can’t imagine how much I’ve missed you,” Catherine replied; she stroked his cheek with a shaking hand. He noticed that she had teared up as well.

Despite his overwhelming joy about his beloved aunt’s return from the dead, he couldn’t help but wonder. “Where have you been all this time?” he wanted to know.

His aunt shook her head. “Not here.” She glanced around watchfully. Then she extended her hand to him. “Do you trust me?”

Gideon surprised himself, when he nodded and took her hand. In the blink of an eye they had disappeared.

\-------

When he opened his eyes again, they were standing in front of a ruin. _Catherine’s townhouse,_ he recognized. He watched as his aunt deglamourized the house and let them in.

Gideon hadn’t entered the house since an unfruitful attempt to find out what had happened to his aunt, years ago. He remembered spending hours methodically searching every floor; rummaging through cupboards and drawers, looking under beds and behind portraits; even going so far to check every room for loose floorboards. It had all been for nothing; he hadn’t been able to turn up even a hint of a clue. In the end he had been so frustrated, that he had threatened Misty, his aunt’s house-elf, with clothes, if she wouldn’t tell him where her Mistress had gone.

Obviously Misty had not forgotten about that. When his aunt summoned her to bring them some tea, the house-elf trembled in fear at the sight of Gideon standing in the entrance hall. After she had left, his aunt turned towards him with a questioning smile. “What did you do to the poor thing that she looks at you like you are You-Know-Who?”

“Threatened to set her free…” He felt a slight hint of remorse at the memory of Misty’s desperate pleading. Catherine shook her head at him in mock austerity. She led him into the parlour and offered him a seat.

“So where have you been? You managed to disappear without a trace,” Gideon demanded to know, as his aunt took a seat across from him. “And what kept you so long?” he added; he couldn’t refrain from sounding slightly accusing.

His aunt regarded him with a measuring look. “Nothing kept me, Gideon.” Her voice was gentle, yet insisting at the same time. “It was my own decision to stay hidden. It was necessary.”

Gideon couldn’t believe his ears. _She wanted to stay hidden? She was alive and well all those years, and yet she never bothered to let me know?_

His anger must have clearly shown on his face, for Catherine was quick to apologize. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am for keeping you in the dark, Gideon, but I didn’t have a choice!” Her eyes were pleading for his understanding.

Misty appeared, saving him from the need to answer straight away.  She was carrying a tray with a pot of tea and two cups. When she tried to pour for Gideon, her hands trembled so violently that the cup fell to the floor and shattered, splashing tea all over his boots. 

The elf gave a piercing shriek of horror; then she threw herself to the ground and started to smash her head against the floor, yelling “Bad Misty! Bad Misty!”

“Stop that, Misty!” Catherine commanded sternly. The house-elf obeyed, but continued to cower with fright at Gideon’s feet, not daring to look up to him.

“Misty, it’s nothing,” Gideon said; he flicked his wand to repair the cup and remove the tea stains from his boots.

“Misty is most sorry, Master Gideon,” Misty whined, “please don’t give her clothes!” She gazed up at him, her tear-filled eyes pleading desperately. “Please, Misty will do anything, please don’t set her free!”

He sighed. “Look Misty, I shouldn’t have treated you so harshly when I tried to find out my aunt’s whereabouts. Please accept my apology.”

Misty stared at him, dumbfounded. “Master Gideon wants to apologize to Misty?” she asked, sounding incredulous.

“Yes, Misty,” Gideon answered, giving her a reassuring smile.

It turned out to be the wrong thing to do. The house-elf burst into tears and threw herself to the ground again. “Misty is not worthy of Master Gideon’s apology, Misty is a bad elf, she deserves to be punished!” And with that she started bashing her head against the floor yet again.

“That’s enough, Misty!” Catherine yelled, “Stop that, in the name of Merlin!”

Misty paused, her face still pressed to the ground, her body shaking with strangled sobs.

“You may leave, Misty,” his aunt said, sounding resigned. With a loud crack the elf disappeared, leaving them behind in uncomfortable silence.

After a while, Catherine began to speak. “You really must have scared the wits out of her,” she said reproachfully, looking at him with a frown on her face.

Gideon felt a sudden rush of fury. “Well, I was desperate to find you and out of options. You had left without so much as leaving a note!” he accused her, his voice rising with his temper. “All those years, and you never bothered to send me a letter! When my father was… when he died, you promised you would always be there for me!” The whole desperation and pain of his five-year-old self resurfaced at the memory.

His aunt looked deeply shaken by his angry outburst; she opened her mouth hesitantly, as if she wanted to say something.

But Gideon was nowhere near finished. He had been bottling up these emotions for years; being finally able to release all of it was immensely relieving. “You gave me your word, and then you just left me behind. You left me with _these people_!” He spat the last words venomously.

“I knew you would be safe here, Gideon,” Catherine interjected in a small voice.

“Safe? You know your own father, don’t you? You grew up under his tyranny; you know exactly what he’s like!” Gideon yelled at her; he was livid now. “All your efforts to step out of his shadow, to be a better person than him… in the end you two are more alike than you care to admit!”

Catherine flinched as if he had hit her. For a moment he almost felt sorry… almost. After his father’s death, his aunt had been the only person left in the world that he truly cared about, whom he had trusted unconditionally… and she had betrayed him. _She deserves to feel at least some of all that pain she caused me,_ he thought defiantly. All of the sudden Gideon wasn’t able to look at her anymore. He didn’t want to see her sad face or the tears forming in her eyes, eyes that were so similar to his own; and so he decided to examine his hands instead.

After what felt like hours, his aunt cleared her throat to speak. “Gideon.” Her voice was hoarse; he felt her hand lightly touching his own. He flinched, but didn’t pull it away. “Gideon, please look at me,” Catherine said pleadingly.

Hesitantly Gideon raised his head. She was looking at him intensely, her eyes still brimming with tears. “Leaving you behind was the hardest thing I ever had to do,” his aunt confessed in a strained voice. “But I didn’t have a choice. Elena wasn’t safe here in Britannia, and I needed to protect her.”

Gideon snorted and tore his hands out of her grip. “Your precious little daughter! What exactly was she in danger of? Stares and gossip because she didn’t have a father?”

Catherine sighed. “That’s not what I was talking about.”

“No?” Gideon laughed sardonically. He was tired of hearing his aunt’s excuses and vague elusions. “Well, if you’re so concerned about your daughter’s safety, this doesn’t really strike me as the best time to bring her back here. In case you haven’t heard, the Dark Lord has returned!”

She didn’t flinch at the name, but a look of deep concern went across her face. “I’m well aware of that, Gideon. But it doesn’t matter, not anymore. Elena is in danger no matter where I take her. I desperately tried to protect her, but I’ve failed.” She sounded devastated.

Gideon frowned. “I don’t understand.”

Catherine looked like she was debating something in her head; then she seemed to have reached a decision. “Well,” she said, her gaze monitoring him closely, “it’s a danger that comes from within, she can’t run from it.”

“I still don’t know what you…,” he began, when suddenly realization started to dawn upon him. _It can’t be, can it?_

“That’s not possible,” he said slowly, thoughts buzzing through his mind. “Even if she had _the gift_ , she couldn’t have developed it; she was a baby when you brought her away from Britannia.”

The look upon his aunt’s face told him that he had guessed right. “I don’t know _how_ it happened. It just did.” With an expression of deep anxiety Catherine continued. “She’s _strong_ , Gideon. And she’s losing control!” The last part came out as a muffled scream; she buried her head in her hands.

Instinctively Gideon reached out to pat her back in a helpless gesture of comfort. “It’s going to be okay… She is here now; we can get her help…” He realized he was rambling. If his cousin was indeed strong enough for her powers to develop on their own, it would be very difficult to teach her control. _Especially if she has already began to lose it…_

Gideon kept his thoughts to himself; his aunt didn’t need to hear that right now. “Don’t worry, Catherine,” he tried to reassure her. “Your daughter is going to be just fine, you’ll see. I’ll help her.”

She slowly let her hands sink into her lap, away from her face. Her eyes were filled with tears again. “You would do that?” A faint glimmer of hope was in her voice.

“Of course.” He tried to give her a comforting smile. _Careful, Gideon, don’t make promises you can’t keep,_ a voice piped up in his head. He tried to shake the uprising sense of foreboding. “So,” he asked, a little bit too eagerly, “what’s her element?”

The lines of worry etched into his aunt’s face seemed to deepen even more. _She looks like an old woman,_ he thought in alarm.

“I’m not sure.” Catherine’s voice was barely a whisper.

“What do you mean?” Gideon asked, frowning in confusion. “If her powers are showing, you must know what her element is!”

His aunt let out a strangled sob. “She… she’s using different elements!”

He froze in shocked surprise. _That’s impossible!_ Every bender was bound to his element by birth. Of course there had always been rumours that the Dark Lord had managed to master more than one element; that Dumbledore had even mastered _all four_ of them… but those were just rumours, nothing more… And even if there should be some truth to it; the Dark Lord and Dumbledore were both powerful, exceptional wizards, the latter was even acclaimed by some to be the greatest wizard of all time…

_Maybe,_ Gideon thought, _just maybe I could believe that Dumbledore is able to control more than one element… but certainly not my little cousin! How old can she be now, fourteen or fifteen?_

His aunt had watched him carefully, her eyes never leaving his face. “Say something,” she said, almost begging.

“Are you _sure_?” he asked, trying very hard to keep his composure.

A ghost of a smile played around Catherine’s lips at his incredulous tone. “Unfortunately – yes.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Dumbledore told us she would be… _special_ , but I didn’t believe him; I didn’t want to believe it… now I think he was right…”

“Wait a second,” Gideon interrupted her. A sudden realization had struck him. “You _knew_ she was gifted. That’s why you left.”

His aunt made a move to speak, but he went on. “But why? The Dark Lord had been defeated; you could’ve just stayed and let her grow into her talents! And what has Dumbledore to do with it?”

Catherine regarded him thoughtfully. “Gideon, there is something you need to know about Dumbledore, but first I need your word that…”

**CRACK!**

A loud noise from the entrance hall startled both of them. Then Gideon could hear Misty’s high-pitched voice, talking to someone. “Mistress Elena can’t go into the parlour, Mistress Catherine has a visitor!” the elf squealed.

“I don’t care, Misty. I need to talk to my mother, _right now!”_ The girl - _most likely my cousin_ , Gideon thought – sounded like she meant business. “Let go off me, Misty, or I’ll make you!”

“No!” Misty’s squeal was followed by a series of blows and grunts; apparently the two of them were having a wrestling match in front of the parlour door.

He turned to his aunt, to find his own amusement mirrored on her face. “Looks like it’s time for you to meet my daughter,” Catherine said. She got up, wiping her eyes to try and hide the fact that she had been crying, before she opened the door. “That’s enough, you two,” she declared sternly. “Elena, there is someone I’d like you to meet.”

Gideon turned in his seat; curious to take a look at this cousin he had last seen when she had been a toddler. The girl his aunt led in was small and slender, and slightly ruffled after her fight with Misty. Her narrow face was framed by wild, black curls, which tumbled almost to her waist. He could make out a faint resemblance to her mother, but surprisingly the girl mostly reminded him of his cousin Daphne. _Or rather our cousin Daphne,_ he thought. _Though Daphne would never be caught dead looking like that…_

He couldn’t help but feel slightly disappointed. _I guess after everything Catherine just told me, I expected someone… well, someone a little less ordinary,_ he mused, taking in the girl’s horrible Muggle outfit.

“Elena, this is your cousin,” his aunt introduced him, “Gideon de Villiers.”

 

\-------

**Author’s note:** Review! Please?!


	13. Unexpected

Elena stared at the stranger in shock. _Did Mum just say ‘de Villiers’? Like that guy Zabini mentioned, that was Duke of… something?_

The young man her mother had introduced as her cousin got up from his seat to greet her. She noticed that he was very tall and broad-shouldered, and dressed every bit as richly as Malfoy and Zabini had been. His fair hair was slightly curled, framing his face and falling into his eyes, which were indigo-blue, exactly the same shade as her mother’s. He was extraordinary handsome, she had to admit. _Maybe these British Purebloods are onto something,_ was her first, absurd thought.

Elena realized that he was eying her every bit as curious as she was eying him; she saw his gaze wandering from her wild hair over her Muggle clothes, down to her well-worn sneakers. His eyes narrowed slightly. _He’s just as arrogant as Malfoy,_ she thought angrily.

Then he seemed to remember that her mother was watching them; he smiled, showing his perfect teeth, and extended his hand towards her.

“It’s nice to meet you, Elena. Your mother has already told me quite a lot about you.”

His voice was deep, and seemingly friendly; but she didn’t buy it for a second. Yet with her mother watching like a hawk, she had no choice but to shake his hand.

“Nice to meet you, too,” she told him, forcing a strained smile.

She had to look up to him; the top of her head didn’t even reach his chin. When her hand touched his, he pulled it away abruptly, as if she had burned him. His smile was gone; he stared at her in consternation. Elena was inevitably reminded of Blaise, how he had wrested his hand away from her in the pub, the hatred in his eyes… _Maybe the people here have some way to tell that I’m a freak just by touching me?_ she thought frantically.

Her cousin looked from her to her mother. “You were right, she’s bloody strong!” he said, lightly massaging his temples with the tips of his fingers.

_As if he got a sudden migraine,_ Elena mused. _What did he mean by saying that I’m strong?_ She looked at her hands, half expecting to see that there was something different about them, but they looked just like they always had.

The guy - _Gideon!_ Elena reminded herself- was watching her intensely. “Your power is growing faster, now that you are in Britannia, isn’t it?” he asked her, his tone inquisitive. She had no idea what he was talking about.

“Gideon, she doesn’t know about her gift,” her mother intervened.

_What the hell are they talking about?_ Elena wondered.

“You didn’t tell her?” Gideon asked her mother, his expression incredulous and slightly angry.

Elena had enough of the two of them talking about her like she wasn’t there. “I already know that I’m a freak!” she yelled, her patience finally snapping after the terrible morning she had experienced. “I don’t need a snobbish, long-lost relative to explain that to me, thank you very much!”

As her temper flared, she felt that dreaded energy swelling within her. _No! Not here!_ she thought desperately. To her embarrassment she felt her eyes filling with tears; she made a move to turn around and flee from the room.

Before she could take even one step towards the door, Gideon had grabbed her, holding her in place. She noticed that he was very careful to avoid touching her skin. Elena fought and tried to wriggle herself out of his grip, but he was too strong for her; it was like he didn’t even notice her desperate attempts to break free of his hold.

“You need to relax, Elena,” his voice was gentle, yet very insisting. “Concentrate on your breathing!”

“Listen to what he’s telling you, honey,” her mother called worriedly, “he can help you!”

She ignored them both and continued to struggle; the energy surged wildly through her blood. “Let go of me!”

He didn’t move an inch. “If you don’t calm down, you might just kill us all!” he said, his tone slightly threatening now. “Do you want that? Do you want to hurt your mother?”

The mention of her mother struck a chord in her; she had always been afraid that one day she would hurt her mum in one of her magical outbursts. _Not today!_ She slumped into his arms.

“Yes, that’s better,” Gideon said, holding her close to his body. “Now I need you to control your breathing, concentrate and slow it down!”

Elena did as he told her. _Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale._ After a minute she felt herself calming down.

Gideon slowly let go of her, turning her around to face him. His gaze was serious. “That was close; you’ve almost lost control entirely. We need to work on that immediately!”

By now she was sure he was talking about her magical outbursts, but she had no idea how he could possibly know about them. _Maybe Mum told him something,_ she thought. “What would you know about it?” she asked him skeptically.

He gave her a wary smile. “Well, I’m like you in a way, Elena. I’m a freak!” When he saw her blank-faced expression, he added “I’m gifted, just like you.”  

_Well, that certainly cleared everything up,_ she thought with blistering sarcasm, frowning at him. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

Gideon exchanged a questioning look with her mother, who nodded slowly. “Well…,” he began hesitantly, facing Elena again, “you and I are _benders;_ that means we have the power to control an element.”

_The power to control an element?_ Elena thought with curious disbelief. _What the hell is that supposed to mean?_

Her cousin must have sensed her lack of understanding, since he continued. “It’s not so easy to explain… well, your mother told me you already had some experiences with your powers… tell me, what did you do?”

Feeling slightly unsure whether she should entrust her deepest, darkest secrets to a total stranger, Elena turned to her mother for help. “Mum?”

Her mother gave her a reassuring smile. “It’s okay, Elena. You can tell him everything; he just wants to help you.”

Elena turned back to Gideon, taking a deep breath to calm herself. “Well,” she started reluctantly, “there was that one time, when I tossed a teacher across the classroom; another time I caused a small tsunami, or brought down a whole vault… and I might have burned a few people…” Listing all the times her inner freak had shown was mortifying; and her cousin’s incredulous frown, that deepened with every episode she described, made her feel like she was on trial.

When she was finished, Gideon regarded her with an expression of uttermost astonishment. “That’s… certainly _unusual_ ,” he said finally. “Very abnormal.”

Elena frowned angrily. _He’s not helping at all! “_ You said you were like me, and now you’re telling me that I’m _abnormal_?!” She was fuming with fury.

Gideon quickly apologized. “I’m sorry, I didn’t express myself very well, please calm down!” He was observing her cautiously; ready to grab her again, should she do something crazy.

Slightly worried, Elena hurried to regain her composure. _Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale._ When her heartbeat had decelerated to a decent tempo, she looked at her cousin questioningly. “So what did you mean when you said I was _abnormal_?” Her voice was slightly strained.

Gideon shrugged his shoulders. “Usually a bender’s powers are limited to a single element; but after what you just described, I think you might be sort of a multi-talent.” He sounded incredulous, like he couldn’t believe what he had just said.

Elena sighed resignedly. _Looks like I’m a freak even among the freaks… that’s so typical!_ Yet she felt strangely comforted. All her life she had believed she was some magical monstrosity, a freak of nature; it was sort of relieving to hear that there were other people who could do what she did. “So, what’s your element?” she asked Gideon curiously.

He smiled lightly. “Earth, of course. It runs in the de Villiers family.”

Elena stared at him in fascination. “Could you show me?”

Gideon laughed amused. “You want a presentation?”

She just nodded, beaming with excitement.

Her cousin grinned about her enthusiasm. “Brace yourself!”

He raised his right hand in front of him, visibly concentrating. Suddenly, with quick twist of his fingers, a crack appeared in front of Elena’s feet. Under creaking and cracking it spread through the marble floor, forming a perfect circle around her. Then Gideon opened his hand, turned the palm up and raised it demandingly. The floor creaked in protest, but then it yielded to his will and a round chunk of marble slowly rose from the ground, lifting her into the air.  

“Wicked!” Elena exclaimed excitedly.

Her mother smiled at her elation; then she raised a warning finger at Gideon in mock austerity. “Did you have to ruin the floor? I really liked the veining.”

He laughed loudly. “Sorry, Aunty Cathy!” He lowered his hand; the marble chunk sank to the ground again and perfectly fitted itself into the hole that had been there.

Elena examined the floor intently; there wasn’t even a single fissure showing to indicate what her cousin had just done. She raised her eyes to him. “Could I do that, too?”

Gideon smiled at her. “With the sufficient amount of training, certainly. But first you have to learn control.”

“What does that mean?” she wanted to know.

“Well,” said Gideon, “so far you haven’t used your powers deliberately, am I right?”

Immediately the horrible image of a burning Jason appeared in front of her mind’s eye; she looked bashfully to the ground. “I tried once, but it didn’t work the way I wanted…” she mumbled, feeling slightly ashamed of herself. “The other times it just… kind of _burst out_ of me, I couldn’t control it at all.”

Gideon nodded knowingly. “Yes, that’s the crux of the gift, if you don’t have someone to teach you control, your power will grow until it releases itself. If a bender gets too strong without learning proper control, his power might destroy himself.”

Elena gasped, shocked by his words. “Does that mean I’m going to… _die?”_ Her voice failed her.

In an instant her mother was next to her, wrapping her arms tightly around her. “No, honey, everything is going to be fine, you’ll see. Gideon can help you.” Catherine’s voice was thick with worry; Elena wasn’t sure whether her mother was trying to reassure her or herself.

Her cousin was eying her thoughtfully. “I’m not going to lie, Elena. You are sort of a special case, in more than one way.”

He paused, obviously pondering his next words carefully. “Usually a gifted person needs a fully fletched bender to _unleash_ his or her power. Some benders are so strong that their powers develop on their own, but that doesn’t really happen in Britannia anymore; here all children are tested for a dormant gift when they start at Hogwarts.”

“Your powers developed on their own, Gideon,” her mother interjected. “And your brother’s, too.”

“Yes,” Gideon admitted, “but Henry and I immediately got a teacher. Your daughter’s powers have been evolving unattended for years.”

He turned to Elena. “Look, I promise I’m going to help you as best as I can, okay?” His voice was reassuring, but there was a hint of dread in his eyes.

Elena cleared her throat. “I guess I don’t have a choice… when can we start?”

“Oh, we can start at once, if you don’t mind. Let’s have a seat.” Gideon gestured to the armchairs in front of the fireplace.

Slowly her mother let go of her; they started to walk over, when suddenly an ear-piercing noise startled all of them to the core.

 

* * *

 

Her mother and her cousin had their wands out in the blink of an eye. “Intruder charm?” Gideon asked anxiously.

Catherine nodded; she was murmuring incantations, waving her wand in intricate patterns.

Frozen in shock, Elena watched her. “What’s happening?” Her own voice sounded unfamiliar, far too shrill.

Slowly her mother shook her head; she had turned as white as a ghost. “They’re here; they found me,” she muttered, as if she was talking to herself. With a few steps she was next to Gideon, grabbing his arm. “You have to hide yourself and Elena; they can’t know you’re here.” Her voice was insistent, imploring.

Resolutely Gideon shook his head. “I’m not going to hide! I just got you back, Aunty Cathy; I’m not losing you again. I’m going to fight!”

“No, there are too many of them; they’ll kill us all. I need you to protect my daughter, Gideon, please!” she pleaded desperately.

Elena’s mind was in a haze. _What the hell is happening?_ Blind panic spread through her veins, awakening the dreaded power within her once again.

“Promise me, Gideon.” Her mother’s voice sounded anguished. “Promise me!”

A loud bang was to hear from the entrance hall. _They must have blasted the front door,_ Elena thought frantically, _whoever they might be…_

Cursing fiercely, Gideon grabbed her again, holding her close.

Instinctively Elena struggled against his firm grip.

“Don’t move, don’t make a sound!” he barked at her.

A second later the door flew open; about a dozen dark, hooded figures burst into the room.

Scared to death, Elena slackened in Gideon’s arms, a low whimpering escaping her lips. Strangely none of the intruders seemed to hear the sound; in fact, they didn’t take notice of her and Gideon at all. Instead they encircled her mother; their wands pointing at her threateningly.

One of the figures pulled back her hood. Horror-stricken, Elena took in the face, recognizing her features immediately. _The madwoman from the Ministry!_ she thought. It was definitely the same woman who she had watched kill Sirius Black a few weeks back.

“Catherine de Villiers,” the madwoman said smugly, “I’ve been waiting for this moment for a very long time.”

“Bellatrix Lestrange,” her mother replied calmly, “I would say it’s a pleasure to see you again, but I’ve always hated lies.”

“Vain as ever,” a male voice said from under a hood, next to Bellatrix.

“Is that you, Amycus?” her mother asked, seemingly recognizing the voice.

The man pulled back his hood, his face wore an odd lopsided leer. “Nice to see that you remember me, Catherine,” he said. “We’re all old friends here.” He gave a wheezy giggle.

More people pulled back their hoods; shell-shocked Elena recognized the werewolf Greyback on Bellatrix Lestrange’s other side. Next to Amycus stood a stocky little woman, who looked like she could be his sister, and some of the other faces she recognized from the wanted posters she had seen earlier today, at Diagon Alley.

“I seem to recall you had a little daughter, Catherine,” Greyback rasped, “where are you hiding her?”

Brusquely her mother raised her wand at him. “You’ll never get your dirty paws on her, Greyback.”

Elena felt Gideon’s arms around her tighten; he seemed to know the werewolf, too.

Bellatrix erupted into wild, mad laughter. “He likes to play with his food, our little pet wolf, doesn’t he? And he is very _hungry,_ Cathy; thanks to you he had to go without fresh flesh for 14 long years.”

Greyback grinned viciously and showed his pointed teeth.

“Now,” declared Bellatrix snidely, “let’s begin, shall we?” She pointed at a big, blond Death Eater and a smaller, bull-necked man with a bald head. “Rowle, Gibbon, you two go check the rest of the house; if you find the girl, bring her to me – in one piece!” The men obeyed without objection; apparently Bellatrix Lestrange was in command of the mob.

After they had left the room Bellatrix turned back to Catherine. “My Master would like a word with you. I’m going to bring you to him.”

Her mother snorted. “You can sure try…”

Bellatrix burst out laughing. “You are outnumbered ten to one, Cathy. Even you can’t fight your way out of here.” She nodded towards Amycus and the woman next to him.

Looking somewhat unsure, the two lumpy Death Eaters grabbed their wands tighter and drew nearer to where her mother was standing. “It’s over, Catherine,” Amycus said rather nervously, “be a good girl now and drop your wand!”

Her mother didn’t bother with an answer, instead she swiftly flicked her wand and the stocky little woman went flying backwards, hitting the wall with a heavy thud.

“Alecto!” Amycus yelled worriedly, then he turned back to her mother with a furious expression. “You’ll suffer for this!”

He didn’t manage to carry out his threat, since another flick of Catherine’s wand send him soaring after Alecto.

Angry hissing was to hear from the remaining Death Eaters; they drew the circle around her mother closer.

“Get her!” yelled Bellatrix.

Four men stepped forward simultaneously, sending curses against Catherine.

To keep herself from screaming in fear, Elena bit her lip so fiercely that she tasted blood in her mouth.

Yet her mother stayed seemingly calm. She ducked, two of the curses whizzed narrowly over her head, hitting two of the Death Eaters and knocking them out. A third curse she deflected, sending it back against its creator; the fourth curse missed her considerably.

Elena watched in awe; she had never seen her mother fight before. Of course she had known Catherine to be a well-accomplished auror, she had held one of the highest ranks in the Auror Department of New York City. Yet seeing her in action was something else entirely.

Of the dozen Death Eaters only five remained standing, watching Catherine on high alert.

“Let me deal with her,” Greyback snarled, moving towards her mother with his hands outstretched, his teeth bared.   

“No!” yelled Bellatrix. She whipped her arm through the air, flames shot from her hand and hit Greyback like a lash made of fire; he yelped in pain and backed off, looking furious but sort of subdued as well.

“The Dark Lord wants her alive!” shouted Bellatrix. “Now get her!”

Her mother waved her wand. Black iron chains appeared out of thin air, winding themselves tightly around Bellatrix; apparently trying to strangle the life out of her.

Catherine used the madwoman’s confinement to dispose of two more of her henchmen, knocking them out with simple Stunning Spells.

But then she was hit herself, a red jet of light struck her in the back and knocked her off her feet. Rowle and Gibbon, the men Bellatrix had sent to search the house, had returned, dragging a terribly frightened Misty with them.

The elf wailed in horror when she saw her Mistress on the ground; the big, blond Death Eater slapped her hard on the head to shut her up. The house-elf’s wailing lowered to a hushed whimpering; Misty cowered to the floor, slowly rocking back and forth.

Slightly staggering her mother got back up; miraculously she was still holding her wand. With one swift swing she managed to stun Rowle and Gibbon. Then she aimed her wand at Greyback, who had been creeping up on her from behind. Catherine’s curse hit him square in the chest, knocking him into one of the armchairs which toppled under his weight, crashing onto the coffee table.

Bellatrix, who was still struggling against the iron chains, let out an ear-piercing cry of rage. Suddenly her whole body seemed to burst into flames; the heat of the fire melted the chains right off her. She didn’t seem to care about her burning clothes, offering a truly terrifying sight with the look of sheer madness in her eyes.

“That’s enough, Cathy!” she screamed, raising her hands. Without warning her mother was encircled by flames, dangerously flaring when she got too close. “Tell me, where is your daughter?”  

Her mother said nothing, she tried to extinguish the flames around her with a gush of water from her wand, but the fire just sizzled threateningly.

With a few quick steps Bellatrix was next to Misty, raising her wand at the whining house-elf. “Tell me, or your servant dies!” she yelled.

“Go, Misty!” screamed her mother, “I command you to save yourself!”

Bellatrix curse only hit the floor, leaving a smoking crater in the marble. Misty had disappeared.

With a livid glare Bellatrix turned back to her mother. She raised her hand in a commanding gesture and the flames that encircled Catherine drew closer. “Where is she?”

The fire was licking at the hem of Catherine’s cloak now; for the first time Elena could distinguish a trace of fear in her mother’s eyes.

“My daughter isn’t here, Bellatrix. You said you wanted me, so take me.” Surprisingly her voice was still steady and calm.

“Not so hasty, Cathy. My Master has some questions for you, and I think your daughter would be the perfect motivation for you to give the right answers.” Bellatrix closed her hand, the flames leapt up her mother’s cloak, emblazing it. “Where are you hiding her?”

Her mother let out a scream of pain; her whole clothes were ablaze now.

Elena desperately tried to break free of Gideon’s hold. “I’m here!” she yelled, “please don’t hurt her, I’m here!”

None of the people in the room seemed to hear her at all.

“Stop that!” growled Gideon in her ear; somehow he managed to tighten his grip even more.

Her mother’s wand was burning, too, but she waved it nonetheless. Bellatrix was thrown of her feet and flew through the air, hitting the wall with quite some force. Instantly the fire was gone.

A second later Catherine was hit by three different curses. She collapsed to the ground.

Elena screamed in horror, but yet again no one seemed to hear her, except for her cousin.

“She’s still alive,” he murmured into her ear.

She struggled against his hold, not entirely sure what she planned to do against the Death Eaters once she managed to break free, but she just felt the desperate need to do something… _anything…_

On the other side of the room Bellatrix got back to her feet, looking absolutely crazed with rage now. “You’ll pay for this!” she yelled furiously, raising her hands.

In the blink of an eye the flames had engulfed her mother’s body, blackening her skin, turning her hair to ash.

Elena’s horrified screams were drowned out by the angry shouts of the other Death Eaters.

“What are you doing, Bella?” yelled Greyback. “We need her alive!” He launched a blow at the madwoman, breaking her concentration. Once again the flames went out.

Frozen in shock, Elena watched as the woman named Alecto shuffled over to where her mother’s motionless body was lying. She bent down to check for the pulse. Then she shrugged her shoulders. “Dead.”

Elena felt Gideon tense up; her mind was in a haze, not really able to process the statement. Apathetically she observed the scene in front of her.

“Are you sure?” Amycus asked anxiously, stepping next to his sister to verify her diagnosis. Then he turned to Bellatrix accusingly. “What have you done? The Dark Lord wanted to question her!”

His sister wrung her hands in desperation. “He’ll punish us all!”

Greyback snarled. “I won’t put my neck on the line for this! Bella did this, she can take the blame!”

The others nodded.

Bellatrix seemed to have come back to her senses. “No one needs to be blamed for this, we confronted her, she offered resistance, and she died fighting. End of story.” She looked around challengingly, but apparently nobody wanted to question her version of events. She clapped her hands. “Very well, let’s get out of here before her friends have a chance to show up, shall we?”

She gestured to the Death Eaters who were still lying unconsciously on the ground. “What’s with those failures?”

Amycus and Alecto checked on the unconscious.

“Looks like Goyle kicked the bucket,” Alecto announced indifferently. “The others are just out cold.”

“Forget about Goyle, take the others with you!” commanded Bellatrix, already turning to leave.

The whole bunch of them got ready for departure, gathering up their wounded. In a moment the Death Eaters were gone.

\-------

For what seemed like an eternity they stood frozen, not quite able to move. Elena’s mind was in a haze, she didn’t believe what had just happened, she wouldn’t believe it. _Mum can’t be… gone, it’s just a trick, she feigned death to make them leave…_

Eventually Gideon let go of her; in a few strides he was next to her mother, bending down to check on her.

Elena was still rooted to the spot, watching him. _Why isn’t she moving? They are gone, she can stop pretending now…_

Yet her mother made no move to get up, showed no sign of life at all. Slowly realization began to dawn on her. _Mum would never keep me waiting like this. But that means that she really is…_

Gideon raised his head to meet her eyes. The look on his face told her everything she needed to know, shattered any remains of hope she had so desperately clung to.

“I’m so sorry, Elena…” His voice was dead.

Her insides seemed to have turned to ice. The cold spread through her body, numbing her. Her mind was in a state of shock, she wasn’t able to fully comprehend his words.

Her cousin got up and walked over to her slowly, cautiously as if he was approaching a wounded animal.

“Elena?” he asked gently.

Elena didn’t move a muscle, she simply couldn’t. She just stood there, staring at her mother’s burned body… her _corpse._ As she thought the word, finally accepting the horrible truth, she felt something inside her break.

It was as if a dam had burst, suddenly energy was cursing through her body, pulsing through her veins.

Gideon seemed to sense it; he was watching her with growing concern. “You need to calm down, Elena,” he told her. “Just relax and remember to breathe, okay?”

The crippling pain and sorrow she had felt were immediately replaced with raging fury about her cousin’s words.

“You want me to _relax_?” she snarled at him. “I just watched my mother burn alive and you tell me to _breathe_?!”

She blustered into her wrath, having found an outlet for all the emotions threatening to overwhelm her. The power within her surged dangerously, she was barely able to contain it any longer.

“Stop that!” Gideon requested demandingly.

It was the final straw. She snapped, losing any shred of control she had left.

The energy seemed to just _explode_ out of her, the blast destroying everything in the room that had been left intact after the Death Eater’s attack. Elena was standing in the eye of the storm; around her raw magic surged through the air, blasting chunks of debris from walls, floor and ceiling.

Gideon was visibly struggling to withstand the power bursting out of her in waves, but so far he had managed to hold his ground. Yet his face was twisted with exertion. “Stop it!” he yelled over the raging storm.

But she couldn’t have stopped even if she wanted to. Energy was streaming out of her like water from a leaking pipe; she could feel herself getting weaker with every passing second.

Yet she didn’t really mind, instead the thought of her impending demise was rather soothing. She could feel the energy within her subsiding, and then everything went black.


	14. Dangerous Summer

Summer at the Burrow was the same as always, the days were filled with sun, laughter, Quidditch and Mrs Weasley’s fabulous cooking.

_And yet everything is different this year,_ Hermione thought uneasily. There was a constant tension in the air, never quite ceasing. She could feel it surge whenever she opened the _Prophet_ in morning, anxious to see whether there was another story of disappearance, another odd accident, if there had been another attack. Occasionally Bill and Mr Weasley brought home news before it even reached the paper. Hermione dreaded the day she would hear about someone she knew getting kidnapped or killed.   

Mrs Weasley, overprotective as always, tried to keep the worst from the children, but they would learn anyway. One only had to take a look at the Weasley’s family clock to realize the gravity of the situation; nowadays all nine hands, each inscribed with the name of a family member, were constantly pointing at “mortal peril”. Mrs Weasley had taken to carrying it around the house with her wherever she went.  

For the first time in her life Hermione was grateful that her parents were Muggles. The Grangers were aware something serious was going on in the wizarding world, but fortunately they would never understand how dangerous things had really gotten for their daughter, being friends with the _Chosen One_ and Muggleborn on top of that. Sometimes she felt bad for keeping them in the dark, but there was no helping that. If she told them the truth they would never allow her to return to Hogwarts and the wizarding world altogether, and she wouldn’t be able to bear that. If there was one thing Hermione knew for sure it was that she belonged here, with her friends, mortal peril or not.

Smiling affectionately, she watched them circling on their brooms, high above her. Since it was Sunday, Fred and George had stopped by for lunch and stayed for a game of Quidditch afterwards. Bill had decided to join as well, and so the teams were even without her needing to play. Hermione didn’t mind at all, in truth she had never really gotten the appeal of the game, and she absolutely hated flying. During the holidays she would always get roped into playing with the others, though she would have rather spend her time reading.  

Today she had eagerly volunteered to stand aside and settled down beneath an apple tree in the Weasley’s orchard instead, the overhanging branches offering pleasant shade against the burning July sun. Naturally she had brought some reading, opting for her favourite book “ _Hogwarts: A History”_ for the hundreds of times, since they had yet to make the trip to _Diagon Alley_ in order to shop for their new school books.

Thinking about school brought her mind back to her O.W.L. results which had arrived a few days ago. Ten O.W.L.s, nine of them ‘Outstandings’, was an excellent outcome, she should be proud with herself. _And still…_ She frowned, feeling slightly annoyed. That one little ‘Exceeds Expectations’ at Defense against the Dark Arts stung; it didn’t help that Harry had actually gotten an ‘Outstanding’ in the subject.

_You’re being silly_ , she scolded herself. She didn’t begrudge Harry his grade, she knew from the bottom of her heart that it was well-deserved; he was so brilliant at Defense he had easily taken the teacher’s place last year, after that horrid Umbridge had banned magic from her class.

But she couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed. An ‘E’ was well and good, but as long as there was a better grade to be achieved she hadn’t made it to a hundred percent, and nothing less than perfection was up to her standards. _You have always been an overachiever_ , she thought, lightly amused. All her life she had been taunted by her classmates for what they saw as a flaw, but Hermione had learned to wear her ambition like armour. _Never make yourself smaller than you are._

A light breeze swept across her face, freeing a few unruly curls from her bun. She stroked them behind her ears, trying to focus on her book. A few minutes later her concentration was broken once more by loud cheering respectively cursing from the makeshift Quidditch field; apparently Ginny had scored against Ron yet again. Her teammates Bill and Fred cheered boisterously, while George was berating his younger brother for “unbelievable clumsiness”.

Harry was hanging back; Hermione could see his eyes wandering from Ron to Ginny and back, his gaze alternating between worried and admiring. A soft smile played around her lips. _Finally he’s starting to see her._

The thought filled her with longing. _If only Ron would look at me like that…_ She sighed. It was hopeless. Ron Weasley wouldn’t notice her if she hit him over the head with one of her heavy tomes. _Instead he is drooling over Fleur all the time…_ She snorted angrily. The Frenchwoman was everything Hermione wasn’t; graceful, charming and annoyingly beautiful. _No wonder that he’s smitten with her…_ Her heart contracted painfully.

She couldn’t quite tell when she had first realized her feelings for Ron had developed beyond friendship; it had been a rather creeping process. She wasn’t even sure what about the lanky, ginger-haired boy was attracting her towards him; he was insensitive, downright rude at times and certainly not _that_ good-looking. Yet her heart was beating faster every time he looked at her, whenever he came close…

She shook her head firmly, trying to rid her mind of the vivid daydream threatening to overwhelm her senses. It wasn’t like her, rational, collected Hermione, to lose herself in ludicrous fantasies. Determined, she focused on her book again, trying to block out the shouts from the Quidditch players.

About five minutes later she realized that she had been reading the same paragraph over and over, without having the slightest clue what it said. Angry with herself she slammed the book shut. Putting it aside she leaned back against the trunk of the tree, closing her eyes. _Maybe a little nap will help to clear my head…_

It didn’t take long for her to know it was pointless. Deprived of her eyesight her sense of hearing seemed to have enhanced; she found herself listening intently to the variety of sounds coming from the Quidditch field, her ears perking up every time she made out _his_ voice, whenever his name was being called… She gritted her teeth in frustration. _You are pathetic!_

Resignedly she opened her eyes, deciding to simply watch the match. From what she could tell Ginny’s team was winning, mostly due to her skill as a chaser, but Ron’s apparent inability to block any of her shots was definitely helping.

“Seriously Ron, you claim to be keeper for the Gryffindor house team?” George yelled angrily after his brother had spectacularly failed to deflect yet another Quaffle from Ginny.

“Yeah, you won’t even make Hufflepuff reserve if you try-out like that!” shouted Fred.  

Ron’s face had already reached an alarming shade of beet red, his technique was becoming wilder and wilder with every goal scored by his sister.

Her heart went out to him. She wasn’t exactly a Quidditch expert, but in her eyes Ron was a solid player, who unfortunately lacked nerves and confidence. That had made him an easy target for the other houses’ mockery last year; when Malfoy had composed the satirical song “ _Weasley is Our King_ ” which had been used by the Slytherins to taunt him mercilessly.

Yet Ron’s outstanding performance in the last match of the season had helped Gryffindor to secure the Quidditch Cup last-minute, and Hermione had hoped the sense of achievement would help him to increase self-confidence, but that obviously wasn’t the case. If he didn’t improve his game significantly for the try-outs, he probably wouldn’t make the house team again, like Fred had jokingly suggested.

She sighed. _As if we don’t have enough things to worry about already!_ There was the constant threat You-Know-Who was posing for everyone, and after what Harry had entrusted to Ron and her about the prophecy, Hermione was worried sick about him. _I have no idea how he can be so calm, if I knew I had to face You-Know-Who on my own I would definitely lose it…_

At least Professor Dumbledore had announced to give him private lessons this year, so he must be of the opinion that there was hope. She wondered what the Headmaster could possibly teach Harry that would help him to defeat You-Know-Who. _It must be really advanced defense magic… powerful countercurses, anti-jinxes…_

Hermione would have given almost anything to receive private lessons from the man she considered the greatest wizard of all time, yet she was glad she wasn’t in Harry’s position. _How do you beat a maniac who doesn’t even need to lift his wand to kill you?_ She didn’t have the slightest clue how to fight a powerful bender like You-Know-Who. _Would a wand even work against elemental magic?_ She decided to do some research on the topic as soon as she was back at Hogwarts and had access to its library.

Shortly afterwards Mrs Weasley called to dinner. The others wrapped up their game and landed, while Hermione gathered up her stuff and herself, feeling a little stiff from sitting on the ground all afternoon.

“Nice match, Ginny!” she said to her younger friend, who was striding over, her flaming red hair wind-blown and her face dripping with sweat, yet wearing a huge grin.  

“You actually watched?!” Ginny responded teasingly, knowing full-well of Hermione’s lack of interest for the sport.

Harry, who had been following right on her heels, laughed about her words. “But seriously Ginny, you were brilliant!” he said. “You should definitely try-out for the house team!”

“Oh, thanks Harry, I think I’m going to do just that,” Ginny told him seemingly relaxed, but Hermione noticed the faint blush that was rising to her cheeks.

“Yeah, make us proud, little sister,” Fred chimed in.

“Good to know someone will restore the Weasleys’ reputation on the Quidditch field,” George added with a meaningful side-glance towards Ron, who was marching towards the house with a thunderous expression, his ears still scarlet red.  

 

* * *

 

 

At dinner Ron was still miffed, Hermione’s attempts of conversation were only met with nondescript grunts. He shoveled food in his mouth like there was no tomorrow, chewing noisily. Once more she wondered what made him so irresistible for her. _Certainly not his table manners,_ she thought, wrinkling her nose in disgust. She concentrated her attention on the conversation at the table instead.

“Any news, Remus?” Mr Weasley asked Remus Lupin, who had joined them for dinner this evening, looking more ragged and patched than ever.

“There have been another couple of dementor attacks,” her former teacher answered, “and have you heard of Karkaroff?”

Again the discussion was of the latest Death Eater activities, much to the dismay of Mrs Weasley, who kept trying to steer the talk onto more harmless subjects.

“Hermione, dear, Ginny told me you wanted to buy new dress robes?” she addressed her, speaking up to drown out Lupin, who was telling his captivated audience how Igor Karkaroff’s corpse had been found in a shack up north.

“Yes, Mrs Weasley,” she replied, “the one pair I own won’t fit me anymore.”  

“Naturally,” Mrs Weasley nodded with a knowing look, “you’ve grown more womanly, dear. You should dress the part.”

Her casual statement made Hermione blush with embarrassment. It was true; she had finally developed some curves over the course of the last months, yet she was miles away from a “ _womanly figure”_ , even Ginny had more to boast.

She couldn’t help but throw a quick side-glance at Ron, to see whether he showed any kind of reaction to his mother’s words. She wouldn’t have needed to bother; he was currently mauling his steak like it had done him some great personal wrong. _No reaction whatsoever._ She suppressed a sigh. _It’s hopeless, just accept it._

“Surprising that he managed to stay alive for so long after deserting the Death Eaters,” Mr Weasley said thoughtfully, “I wonder how he…”

“Where do you want to shop?” Vigorously Mrs Weasley cut her husband short.

Startled, Hermione returned her attention towards her. “Oh, I haven’t given it much thought yet, perhaps _Madam Malkin’s_?”

“Yes, she always has an ample choice of the newest designs, though you could try _Twilfitt and Tattings_ as well,” Mrs Weasley responded, a little too eagerly.

“Can I have new dress robes, Mum?” Ginny piped up.

Mrs Weasley expression became strained. “Honey, you just had new ones for Christmas…”

“But it’s my birthday soon,” begged Ginny, “and they don’t really have to be _new,_ I’d just like another pair…”

Feeling slightly awkward, Hermione focused on cutting her steak. She was always painfully touched when the Weasley’s precarious financial situation came up. With her parents having their own dental clinic she was well provided for, even if she always had to make the unpleasant trip to _Gringotts_ to change her Muggle money into Galleons. She hated those visits to the wizard bank, always feeling very much like an outsider, and secretly envied Harry and the Weasley family for having a vault there.

“Speaking of _Diagon Alley_ ,” Bill interjected, “Fortescue and Ollivander have been reported missing, too.”

“Gone into hiding or dragged off?” asked Lupin.

“Looks like the Death Eaters got them,” Bill replied grimly.

Gloomy silence spread around the table, even Mrs Weasley gave up on making small talk. The tension was almost unbearable, making it hard to breath.

Eventually Lupin broke the quiet by clearing his throat. “I’m afraid they’re not the only ones this week… Arthur, you remember Catherine de Villiers?”

“Vaguely,” Mr Weasley answered, “she was a member of the first _Order of the Phoenix_ , wasn’t she?”

“Isn’t that the auror who put Sirius into Azkaban?” Fred asked sharply.

“Yes, I think Mad-Eye brought her up…” George agreed.

From the corner of her eye Hermione saw Harry’s head jolt up at the mention of Sirius.

With a quick glance at Harry, Lupin nodded. “Yes, that would be Catherine.”

Harry gulped audibly. “That woman is responsible for Sirius rotting away in prison for twelve years?” he asked hotly.

Lupin sighed. “Look Harry, even I thought he was guilty, and Catherine… it certainly wasn’t easy for her…”

“Weren’t they… _an item_?” Mrs Weasley cut in. Her question was met with astonished glances from the group. “Well,” she added, slightly defensive, “ _Witch Weekly_ reported about it back then…”

“Yes,” Lupin said, frowning, “their relationship was well covered by the tabloids… the runaway-Black and the disgraced daughter of Richard de Villiers…” He snorted. “Sirius used to joke about it.”

“There was a lot of speculation whether he was the father of her daughter,” Mrs Weasley went on curiously, “you wouldn’t know, Remus, would you?”

The news about Sirius possibly having a daughter came as a real bombshell, agitated whispers flew around the table. Harry’s eyes had gotten as big as saucers; worriedly Hermione noticed that he turned pale like a ghost.

Lupin seemed to have taken note as well, for he gave him a concerned look before answering Mrs Weasley in a stern tone. “No, actually I don’t, Molly.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I’m not sure whether Sirius knew himself…,” he added, calmer. “Their relationship was… _complicated_.”

Mr Weasley cleared his throat. “So, what about Catherine, Remus? I seem to recall that she disappeared not long after Sirius was imprisoned.”

Lupin nodded. “Yes, but she must have returned recently. Kingsley told me an auror squad was called to her house in London after the Dark Mark was sighted there.” His expression became weary. “They found the whole place in ruins and her body in the rubble… she must have fought like a true lioness.”

Once again silence fell between them. Hermione felt strangely affected by the stranger’s violent death. _And the war has just begun… how many more are going to fall victim to it?_

Finally Mrs Weasley spoke. “And what about the girl, Remus?” she questioned in a hushed voice.

Lupin shook his head. “I don’t know… Kingsley said there was no trace of her, though they found the corpse of Goyle.”

“Gregory Goyle?” Ron asked, dumbfounded.

“His father, Goyle senior,” Lupin replied, before continuing. “And there was evidence for elemental magic being used, a lot of it.”

“You mean _he_ was there himself?” Mr Weasley queried alarmed.

“He or someone almost equally strong; according to Kingsley the Auror Department is in a state of utter agitation, they aren’t properly trained to deal with enemies like that…” Lupin trailed off, looking very careworn.

“Of course they aren’t,” Mr Weasley said heatedly, “after the last war the government chose to simply ignore the threat the remaining benders were posing, they should have banned elemental magic years ago!” He talked himself into a rage. “But no, they still continue that madness of allowing Hogwarts to educate new benders! The Council is to blame for this, de Villiers, Malfoy and those other toffs didn’t want to let go of their privileges, and now we all have to pay for their pride!”

“I have to agree, Arthur,” Lupin proclaimed, “the benders are a serious danger to the public.”

Suddenly Mrs Weasley leaped up from her chair, glaring at Lupin with fury. “How dare you say that in my house!” she yelled; angry red spots had appeared on her cheeks.

Her sudden outburst startled all of them. Lupin, looking rather aghast, tried to backtrack. “I’m sorry, Molly, I didn’t mean to…”

Mrs Weasley didn’t bother to let him finish. “But you did!” she shouted, before storming out of the room in a huff.

Distraught Lupin turned to Mr Weasley. “She got me wrong; I didn’t mean to insult her brothers.”

“Of course, Remus,” Mr Weasley reassured him, “Molly is just a little… _tense_ at the moment, we all are.”

 

* * *

 

 

After the awkward incident Lupin had quickly made his farewells. Fred and George had left as well; Bill and Fleur had retired, claiming that they had to get up early, and Mr Weasley had gone after his wife to calm her down. Hermione, Harry and the two youngest Weasleys remained to do the dishes.

Wondering what all the commotion had been about, Hermione decided to enquire as soon as they were left alone. “What was that about?”

Ron and Ginny exchanged a meaningful look, then Ginny answered hesitantly. “Mum’s brothers were powerful benders, but they… well, they died in the last war. You-Know-Who killed them himself.”

Hermione gasped in horror. “Oh… I’m sorry, I didn’t know!”

“Mum never quite got over it,” Ginny said with a pained expression, “that’s why she flipped like that.”

Hermione felt a rush of sympathy for Mrs Weasley’s loss, yet her curiosity got the better of her. “Doesn’t the gift usually run in the family?”

Ginny shrugged her shoulders. “It does, but Mum doesn’t have it and my brothers don’t have it either. I was tested positive though.”

Hermione couldn’t help but gape at her in utter astonishment. “You are a bender?”

“No, I’m not,” Ginny put her off, “Mum and Dad didn’t want me to learn…” Her voice trailed off.

“But you could be, if you wanted,” Hermione pressed her on. Her mind was buzzing with excitement. _I would give anything to be a bender…_ She was feeling slightly envious of her friend. Ever since she had learned about the wizarding world, she had been fascinated with the people who weren’t in need of a wand and spells to wield magic. Being a witch was thrilling as it was, but to be able to perform magic just by the power of your own will…

Unfortunately the ability to use elemental magic seemed to be confined to the old Pureblood families, for Hermione hadn’t heard or read of a single bender of Muggleborn origin. She had thought it was because the secret knowledge was passed on in the families in order to keep elemental magic a privilege of Purebloods. _Yet Mr Weasley said it’s taught at Hogwart…_ She wondered why she had never come across it. _Time to find out._

“When have you been tested, Ginny?” she asked, anxious to know. _Maybe I’m gifted, too, but never figured it out…_

Ginny’s answer scotches her vague hopes. “I was tested when I started at Hogwarts, like everyone. When you put on the _Sorting Hat_ it doesn’t just look where to place you, you know.” When she realized that Hermione was hanging on her every word, she elaborated. “The hat checks for hidden talents; if you are gifted, you get notified and have to decide if you want to unleash your power or not. In case you choose to become a bender a teacher is assigned to you, if not… well, nothing really changes for you at all.”

“Only tossers decide to become benders,” Ron said contemptuously. He was lounging on the old, sagging sofa, watching them work, after he had merely assisted in clearing the table and then claimed that dish-washing was women’s work, louder and more vigorously than he would have dared in his mother’s presence.

Hermione chastened him with a look of reproach that he ignored as always. _Lazy, ignorant prat,_ she thought angrily.

Harry, who usually helped willingly, wasn’t of much use today, neither. He seemed absentminded, lost in thought. _Most likely thinking about Sirius,_ guessed Hermione with worry. Ever since he had arrived at the Burrow, she had tried to get him to talk about what had happened at the Ministry, but Harry had strictly refused to speak about losing his godfather.

When the two Weasleys were distracted with arguing about who had to dry the dishes she jumped at the chance to talk to him in relative private. “Are you okay?” she asked him tentatively.

He didn’t even seem to notice her question.

“Harry?” she tried again, more distinctly than before.

Harry flinched. “Hm?” he mumbled absently.

“You seem distracted tonight… are you okay?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I’m fine. Just tired,” he said brusquely.

She knew he was lying. “Are you sure? After what we just learned about Sirius…”

Harry winced at the mention of his godfather. “I’m fine, okay? Let it go, Hermione.” He turned his back on her.

Hermione suppressed a resigned sigh and grabbed a dish towel. She wasn’t about to let him off that easily. Sooner or later Harry would need someone to talk about his feelings and then she would be there, as always.

    


	15. Picking up the Pieces

Throwing back his head Gideon drained another glass of firewhiskey, welcoming the burning sensation that dulled his mental pain for a moment. It was his sixth or seventh; he had lost count some time ago. Yet he knew he had nowhere near enough to drown his sorrows in the burning liquor. _All the firewhiskey in the world wouldn’t be enough to make this better_ , he thought bitterly.

After he had made it out of the smoking ruin of his aunt’s house, barely managing to save himself and his unconscious cousin before the whole thing collapsed to a pile of rubble, he had apparated them to the only place he knew to be safe: his own house. The wards protecting the country estate were ancient and strong, sufficient to offer shelter against a whole army of assailants.

_There were blood wards on Catherine’s house as well, and yet the Death Eaters managed to get in,_ he ruminated, _how is that possible?_

The blatant explanation was that _someone_ had let them in, someone who shared his aunt’s blood. _My blood._ Shivering involuntarily he poured himself another firewhiskey, clinging to the glass with deep despair.

With his aunt gone for the second time, there wasn’t a single family member left who Gideon fully trusted, but he didn’t think anyone of them capable of this betrayal. _On second thought, what about Henry?_

He knew that his brother had close ties to several Death Eaters, yet he hadn’t the slightest idea what his aunt could have done to provoke Henry into such an extreme course of action. _Maybe he simply did it do win favor with the Dark Lord?_   

Brooding he took another sip of firewhiskey. The more he thought about it, the more sure he was about his brother being the traitor. _I don’t have any proof though…_ All of the sudden he was overcome by a wave of fury; with a vengeance he flung his half-empty glass into the fireplace. It shattered to pieces, the alcohol causing the fire to flare up abruptly.    

The blazing flames instantly reminded him of his aunt’s horrible death; once again he heard her screams, saw her burning alive... He buried his head in his hands, trying to block out the terrible sight. It was in vain. The image seemed to be burned into his retina.

_I should never have listened to her,_ he thought frantically, _I should have fought!_ Yet his aunt had made him promise to stay hidden, to keep her daughter safe. By giving her his word he had condemned himself to stand on the sidelines as she was murdered right in front of his eyes. He clenched his fists in frustration. _Now Catherine is dead and I’m stuck with her bloody daughter!_

He had no idea what he was supposed to do with his cousin. She was dangerous, that much was clear. What she had done after her mother’s death had shocked and even frightened him, if he was being honest. _I’ve never seen anything like that, she must be at least ten times stronger than me, and that without ever being taught at all!_ The notion what she could be capable of if she was properly trained sent a cold shiver down his spine.

_I wonder where she got that kind of strength from,_ Gideon mused, _sure, her mother was a de Villiers, but not a bender herself…_ _Who in Merlin’s name was her father?_ He knew there had been rumours it might have been Sirius Black, but as far as he knew Catherine had never confirmed that. The Black family had given rise to a lot of powerful benders though, Bellatrix Lestrange being the most recent example…

Thinking about his aunt’s murderer made him grit his teeth in rage. _She’s going to pay for this,_ he swore, _I’m going to kill her myself!_ Since his glass was gone, he drank the firewhiskey directly from the bottle to toast his oath. _I won’t rest until she and all her cronies are dead,_ he promised himself, _and if Henry should prove to be the traitor, nothing will save him from my wrath!_

 

* * *

 

Gideon awoke with a vicious headache, in desperate need of a moment to sort himself out. He seemed to have passed out in an armchair of his parlour, the fire had long burned down and shafts of light were piercing through the gaps of the untidily shut curtains.

When he tried to sit up straight, he immediately regretted the motion, for the room went spinning in front of his eyes. A wave of ragging nausea churned in his stomach, the disgusting flavor of bile was on his tongue. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, fighting the urge to gag. _What the hell happened to me?_

He was able to answer at least part of the question when he dared to open his eyes the next time. An empty firewhiskey bottle was lying carelessly discarded on the floor; on the coffee table in front of him was another bottle, with only a small amount of amber liquor left in it. _Merlin, I really hit the bottle, didn’t I?_

Usually he had a good grip on himself in terms of alcohol ingestion; he would have one, maybe two drinks in the evening to take the edge off the day’s stress and problems, just enough to help him sleep. _Things must have truly gotten out of hand yesterday…_   

He struggled to remember what had prompted him to get plastered like that. Vague memories flashed through his mind without making any sense. He tried to reconstruct what he had done the day before. _I went to the cemetery, and I met someone there… Aunty Cathy? That can’t be true…_ He shook his head, and instantly cursed himself for his own foolishness. A stabbing pain went through his head, immediately causing him to gag again.

Forcing himself to take several deep breaths, Gideon leaned back and closed his eyes. More incoherent flashes of memory buzzed through his mind: _Curses flashing… Death Eaters… fire… and a girl, there was a girl…_

**CRACK!**

The sudden noise almost gave him a heart attack. He tore his eyes open, frantically searching for his wand. Then he realized the intruder was only a house-elf. _Not one of mine though… “Misty?_ ”   

At the sight of his aunt’s house-elf everything came back to him. _She’s dead, murdered by Bellatrix Lestrange… Catherine is gone, forever…_ Pain went through him like a knife, pain that had nothing to do with his throbbing head.

“Master Gideon!” Misty said in a wailing tone. She was cowering on the ground in a kneeling position, careful not to look up to him. “Mistress Catherine commanded Misty to save herself, so Misty left, but when she returned the house was gone and there were a lot of aurors…” She gulped back a sob. “Misty didn’t know where to go, so she came here… to find Mistress Elena!”

The elf’s high-pitched wailing was fueling his splitting headache; Gideon had to pull himself together to refrain from rudely barking at her. “That’s alright, Misty, you can stay as long as you want,” he told her.

“Thank you, Master Gideon!” the house-elf squealed, looking immensely relieved. “Where might Misty find Mistress Elena?”

Gideon realized that he didn’t knew the answer to her question. When they had arrived, his cousin had been unconscious after having completely exhausted herself, so he had ordered Lookey to make a bed for her in one of the guest rooms; but that had been… _When? Yesterday, or the day before that?_ He didn’t have the slightest clue, so he decided to call for his servant. “Lookey!”

The old house-elf appeared with a pop. “Yes, Master Gideon?” The elf didn’t comment on the obvious remains of Gideon’s drinking bout, but he gave Misty a curious look.

“Where is my cousin, Lookey?”

“The young Mistress is still sleeping, Master,” the house-elf answered, “Lookey made a bed for her in the Blue Room.”

“Very well, Lookey,” Gideon said, feeling sort of relieved that he didn’t have to deal with the girl straight away. “Could you tell me what day it is?” he asked then, slightly embarrassed.

“It’s Monday, Master Gideon,” Lookey replied with a hint of reproach in his voice.

_Monday,_ Gideon thought with shock, _I guess that means I drank away the Saturday and slept through Sunday…_ A glance at his watch told him that he should have met his grandfather for the weekly briefing about fifteen minutes ago. _A miracle that he hasn’t sent a howler already…_ He sighed deeply.

“Lookey, be so kind and send a message to the Duke that I won’t be able to make the meeting today,” he ordered his house-elf, “and before you do that, please bring me a headache-potion.”

“Of course, Master.” With a crack Lookey disapparated, returning after a few seconds to hand Gideon a little flask.

“Thank you, Lookey, you’re a lifesaver,” Gideon said gratefully, emptying the content of the flask at one gulp.

Lookey bowed and disappeared with a crack.

The potion’s effect was immediately noticeable; with relief he felt the nagging pain in his temples reduce to a dull throbbing. Yet when he got up from his seat his head went spinning again, he had to cling to the back of the armchair in order to keep himself from awkwardly slumping to the floor.

“Isn’t Master Gideon feeling well?” Misty asked worriedly, her high-pitched voice sending a new stab of pain through his head.

Gideon gritted his teeth, already regretting that he had allowed the elf to stay at his house. _You should have asked Lookey for a Hangover-Potion,_ he realized. _Never mind. Get a grip on yourself._

He turned towards Misty. “I’m going to check on Elena now; would you like to see her?”

“Yes, Master Gideon,” the elf replied shyly.

Gideon waited until his head had stopped spinning, then he led the way to the Blue Room.

 

* * *

 

It was just as Lookey had said, his cousin was still asleep. Gideon wasn’t surprised; after how she had exhausted herself by bringing down a whole house, it was a miracle that she was even alive. She was breathing slowly and steadily, sleeping peacefully as if she didn’t have a care in the world. For a moment he almost envied her, until he remembered how she would feel when she woke up.

He knew exactly what it was like to lose a parent, having lost his father at the age of five. _And I still had Catherine to help me cope…_ His cousin had no one.

Misty, who had been beholding the girl devoutly, stepped forward to smooth out her blanket, very careful not to disturb her, every gesture betraying her affection for his cousin.

Slightly frowning Gideon watched the elf taking care of the girl. _What is it about her that she inspires such devotion?_ He couldn’t help but wonder. Her mother had left everything behind to whisk Elena to safety, her friends, her job, her family… her whole life. _She even left me,_ he thought accusingly. Now that he understood his aunt’s reasons, he still blamed her for that.

Yet he had promised Catherine to keep her daughter safe, and he intended to be true to his word. Taking a step closer, he lowered his hand to touch her forehead, cautiously checking for the source of power within her. There was almost nothing, only a faint glimmer of energy; nothing compared to what he had felt when he had shook her hand two days ago. _No surprise there, she let it all out... she should be okay, for now._

Of course her power would grow again, and before that happened, she would need to learn control. Gideon didn’t believe for a second that his cousin could survive another outburst like the one he had witnessed. _She needs to master her powers, or she will die._ There was no way he was going to let that happen. A strange protective instinct took possession of him; gently he stroked a stray curl of her wild hair out of her face, not quite sure why he did so. _Guess her spell already began to take hold of me,_ he thought sarcastically.

Firmly he took a step away, his gaze still lingering on her face. _She’s going to need a teacher,_ he mused. It was against every single one of his instincts to tell someone else about the extent of her powers, but he knew for sure that he wasn’t strong enough to teach her himself. With one last look at his cousin he turned around, leaving her in Misty’s care. _There is only one person who can help her now._

 

* * *

 

It turned out that apparition and a killer hangover didn’t mix well. When he reached his destination, Gideon was unable to keep from throwing up. Luckily he hadn’t eaten in almost two days, so he only heaved up yellow bile. Afterwards he was desperate enough to turn his wand against himself to ‘Scourgify’ his mouth in order to get rid of the horrid taste. Then he raised his eyes to meet a sight that had meant home to him for seven years. _Hogwarts._

He had apparated to the main entrance gate of the school, since apparition on the castle grounds themselves was impossible. The massive iron gates were closed, flanked by two columns topped with statues of winged boars. Even from a few feet away he could feel the power of the anti-intruder jinxes cast upon the gates; no one would be able to enter without permission here. _No doubt he cast them himself,_ Gideon thought.

Drawing his wand, he tried to concentrate. _Think of something happy…_ He almost had to laugh out loud in a fit of black humour. _Easier said than done._ There were some happy memories, buried deep in his mind, but most of them involved her… _Catherine._ He sighed. _Just get it together._ Gideon gritted his teeth and cast the spell. Luckily his patronus only had to deliver a message today; a full-blown dementor would have probably laughed right in his face. _That’s if dementors were able to laugh or had humour at all…_

While he waited for his message to be received, he reminisced about his years at the school. In hindsight it had been good times, unburdened and carefree. Schoolwork had always come easy to him, and since he had mostly stayed out of trouble, unlike his brother, the Headmaster had made him a prefect and even head boy later. Gideon liked to think that it had been due to his outstanding grades and accomplishments, rather than his family name, but one couldn’t know for sure. _One never can._

He had been well-liked in House Slytherin and had even managed to win the other Houses’ respect as head boy. As long as he had stayed out of his brother’s way everything had been fine. Friends, girls… Gideon had got it all. _No one rejects a de Villiers._ He had always known that, but back then he hadn’t cared.

A movement on the driveway leading up to the school caught his attention. He strained his eyes to see who had come to retrieve him. When he recognized the man, he groaned in frustration. _Filch._ Gideon had never liked the grumpy caretaker, who was always on the hunt for rule breakers, mumbling about the good old times when detention had involved whips and thumbscrews.

Filch had reached the gates, ponderously he unlocked the heavy padlock. He greeted Gideon with a stiff bow; his shaggy cat sat right by his boot. “My Lord,” the caretaker said hoarsely, “the Headmaster sent me to bring you to his office. But first I’m to do a security check on you.”

_Seriously?_ Gideon cringed at the prospect of having to allow the filthy man getting any closer. _It’s not like the bloody squib could keep me from forcing my entrance anyway._ This was clearly some sort of joke of the Headmaster. _Dumbledore always had a strange sense of humour,_ he thought resignedly.

 

* * *

 

Gideon had never visited Hogwarts during the summer holidays. It was odd to walk the familiar halls without seeing a single student or teacher; even the ghosts seemed to be on vacation. Filch and his cat escorted him all the way to the gargoyle guarding the entrance to the Headmaster’s office. The caretaker said the password (“ _Licorice Snap”_ ) and the gargoyle leapt aside to reveal the circular, moving stone staircase that led up to Dumbledore’s office.

When he knocked on the door, Dumbledore answered immediately. “Enter.”

Gideon took a deep breath and squared his shoulders before he entered the room. It was just like he remembered from earlier visits; the walls were covered with portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses, all of them snoozing gently in their frames. A number of curious silver instruments stood on spindle-legged tables, their use had never quite disclosed itself to him. Dumbledore’s phoenix was sitting on his perch, eying Gideon curiously; the Headmaster himself was seated behind his desk.

“Good morning, Gideon,” Dumbledore said amicably, “what a pleasant surprise!”

“Good morning, Professor,” Gideon replied; he felt like being back in his school days. “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”

“Oh, surprise visits by former students are one of the greatest joys of an old teacher like myself,” said Dumbledore, his brilliant-blue eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles. “Please, have a seat.” He gestured towards one of the chairs in front of his desk.

“Thank you,” said Gideon; he sat down, noticing that the Headmaster’s right hand was still as blackened and dead-looking as it had been on the day of Lucius Malfoy’s trial. _Looks like it’s not healing at all,_ he thought worriedly. He stared at the injury absently, not sure how to approach his concern.

“I was very sorry to hear about your aunt,” Dumbledore stated all of the sudden, his easy demeanour replaced with sobriety. “My deepest condolences.”

“Thank you,” Gideon replied automatically; his throat felt constricted.

“I always held Catherine in high regard,” the Headmaster said gently, “her death is a grievous loss.”

Gideon gulped, involuntarily he felt himself tearing up. _Merlin, get it together!_

Dumbledore dropped his gaze to examine his hands, kind enough to allow him to compose himself.

Gideon blinked rapidly to get rid of the unshed tears, then he cleared his throat. “That’s sort of the reason why I’m here. I’ve come to ask for your help, Professor.”

The Headmaster raised his eyes to look at him, his gaze studying him intently. “What can I do for you?”

“It’s about Catherine’s daughter, my cousin Elena,” Gideon said hesitantly.

“I hope she is well?” Dumbledore enquired.

“Um, well…” Gideon uttered, “considering the circumstances, I guess she’s… _okay_ …”

“I reckon she is going to need a place here at Hogwarts,” the Headmaster tried to help him along. “I seem to recall that her name was written down in the Book of Admittance right when she was born; of course the school will offer her a place.”

“That’s… great,” said Gideon, “but not the reason why I’m here…” He wasn’t used to ask for help; he liked to take care of matters himself, and so far that had usually worked just fine. _This time it won’t,_ he reminded himself, _you need Dumbledore’s support on this… But how to ask him?_

While he pondered that question, the Headmaster waited patiently. Suddenly he gave a laugh. “Where are my manners? You have to excuse me, Gideon, I’m an old man… Can I offer you something? Tea? Or perhaps you would rather like a glass of Madam Rosmerta’s best oak-matured mead?”

The thought of ever touching alcohol again turned Gideon’s stomach; he declined with thanks. Then he cleared his throat. _Time to get this over with._ “Professor, I’m in a precarious position… can I count on this conversation to remain private?”

“Of course, Gideon,” Dumbledore said genuinely, “not a word will leave this room, you have my word.”

“Well,” Gideon began, “the thing is, my cousin… she’s gifted.”

Immediately understanding flashed through the Headmaster’s intense eyes. “I see,” he said, I assume you want her powers to be unleashed?”

“Actually they’ve already developed on their own,” Gideon said.

Astonishment was written all over Dumbledore’s lined face. “I was firmly convinced that your aunt had left Britannia, and only returned recently… how could her daughter develop her powers?”

“I don’t know,” Gideon answered truthfully. He had hoped the Headmaster would be able to answer that question for him. _Didn’t Catherine say that he foretold Elena would be special?_

“How interesting,” Dumbledore said thoughtfully, “I’m curious, what is her element?”

“I don’t know, Professor,” Gideon said, watching the Headmaster’s reaction very carefully, “apparently she’s able to use different elements.”

Dumbledore kept silent, remaining in perfect motionlessness, but his face betrayed that he was thinking intently. Gideon saw several emotions flash through his eyes in rapid sequence; shock, apprehension, pain, resignation… fear. _Fear?_ he thought worriedly. _If even Dumbledore is afraid, may the goddess have mercy on us._

Finally the Headmaster focused on him again; he looked like he had aged at least a decade over the course of the last minutes. “You wouldn’t know which day her birthday is, would you?” Dumbledore asked quietly.

“August 1st,” Gideon answered, rather surprised that he still remembered.

“1980?” Dumbledore asked; he seemed to only confirm what he already knew.

Gideon nodded, not quite sure what his cousin’s birthday had to do with the matter.

Dumbledore sighed deeply, as if the weight of the world was resting on his shoulders. For a moment they sat in silence, then the Headmaster rose to speak. “Who else knows about this?”

Gideon was startled by the urgency of Dumbledore’s question. “Nobody,” he hurried to assure him, “now that Catherine is… gone,” he paused to clear his throat, “only you, me and my cousin are aware.”

“Good, very good,” Dumbledore murmured, like he was speaking to himself, before he unleashed the whole power of his gaze on Gideon. “No one can know, Gideon. I need your word that you will keep this a secret.”

“Of course,” Gideon said. “I promised my aunt I would keep Elena safe and that’s what I’m going to do.”

“Swear it,” demanded Dumbledore.

As he did so, Gideon wondered briefly how he had gotten himself into this situation. Only two days ago his life had been in order, not perfect of course, but whose life was that? He had been stressed with work, there had been the threat the Dark Lord was posing, the feud with his brother, problems with his grandfather and the rest of his blasted family… long-known and rather manageable. _Now I’ve lost my aunt for the second time, suddenly have responsibility for her daughter, a wild bender, and I share a secret with Dumbledore of all people… What’s next?_

Dumbledore nodded, seemingly content with Gideon’s vow. “I would like to meet your cousin in person, if that’s not too much to ask,” he said.


	16. Ashes to Ashes

Motionless Blaise stood and watched as the pyre burned, cracking and emitting sparks into the night now and then. He was breathing through his mouth, the stench of burning flesh that was heavily hanging in the air made him gag. The raging flames posed no threat to him, yet he carefully kept his distance. He simply couldn’t bear to see the fire consume her body, melting her face and the flesh from her bones, leaving only ashes. Ashes he would gather up and bury; conveniently there already was a tombstone with her name on it. _Bianca Zabini._

It was the second funeral of his sister that he attended. _Yet it couldn’t be more different from the first time, could it?_ Blaise mused, reminiscing. For one thing there had been an illustrious congregation of mourners last time, including the Malfoys and the Greengrasses; he could still see an eleven-year-old Daphne weeping bitterly for her best friend. His mother had cried as well, picture-perfect as usual, comforted by her then-husband-to-be; the man had been number four or five of his wannabe-stepfathers, he wasn’t entirely certain.

Blaise hadn’t shed a single tear though; he had busied himself with wondering who the girl in the coffin might be, wearing his sister’s face and her clothes. He had simply _known_ that she wasn’t Bianca. No matter how persuasively his mother had told him his sister had died from a fever, he hadn’t believed it for a second. He had just _felt_ that Bianca was alive and well; there had always been a special bond between him and his twin.

They had been like two sides of the same coin; two parts of a whole. Bianca spirited and outgoing, him more quiet and reserved. Blaise had been born with powerful magic, his sister without any trace of it. Sometimes he wondered whether it had been his fault, if he had somehow seized all the power that had been meant for both of them to share. Whenever he had expressed these deliberations, Bianca had objected energetically; she had been one of those rare people being entirely at one with the world and themselves.

As long as they had been children it hadn’t mattered anyway; no one had noticed his sister’s lack of magic. Their mother had lost interest in them as soon as the twins had served their purpose: convince their father to marry her. And said father hadn’t had the time to develop real interest in them; he had coincidentally bit the dust as soon as he had signed over his assets. All he had left his children was his name; Blaise couldn’t even remember what he had looked like.  

The truth had been revealed when they had turned eleven, delivered per owl. There had been only one Hogwarts-letter, addressed to Blaise; his sister had got nothing. Their mother had been livid. A squib-daughter hadn’t fit into the self-concept of Elizabeth Montrose, proud descendant of a long line of Purebloods and soon-to-be-bride of Raimond Lestrange, younger brother of Rodolphus and Rabastan, furthermore brother-in-law to Bellatrix Lestrange; all three of them professed followers of the Dark Lord.

His mother had acted quickly; sending Blaise to spend the weekend at Malfoy Manor, she had gotten rid of the inconvenience. Lacking the stomach to actually kill her own daughter, she had settled for the next best thing: lifelong banishment to a Muggle nut house. She had played the part of the grieving mother to perfection, managing to convince everyone but her son.

It had taken Blaise almost two years to get to the bottom of what his mother had done and to learn about the location of his sister’s prison. Then he had spent the next year plotting and planning her escape; training to exhaustion. When he had come home for the summer holidays he had put his plan into action. Luckily he wasn’t in need of a wand to wield magic, so he didn’t leave a trace of underage magic for the Ministry to track. He had set a fire to cover Bianca’s flight; planting the body of a Muggle girl he had stolen from a morgue in her room in order to make everyone, especially their mother, believe she had died in a tragic accident.   

Part two of his plan had involved leaving Britannia behind; he had even toyed with the idea of leaving Europe altogether, to find a home and build a future somewhere far away from all the crap they had gone through. Money hadn’t posed a problem; Blaise had drawn some of the assets from their father’s trust, just enough to start fresh, and few enough to let it go unnoticed. In his opinion their mother had no right to their father’s fortune anyway.

Yet Bianca had categorically refused to leave the country; she had wanted him to complete his education at Hogwarts and she had strived against leaving him behind as well. In the end he had submitted to her will, unable to refuse her anything. Blaise had obtained a new identity for her, a new face and a flat in London. _You’ve always been too soft-hearted, you should have insisted!_ His conscience plagued him. _It’s your fault!_

The painful truth was too much for him to bear. Frantically he pushed the thought to the back of his mind. He was in need of a clear head. Ultimately he would have to face the crippling guilt, but before then there was work for him to do. A list to work through. _Greyback, Selwyn, Travers, and two more second-rate Death Eaters whose names I’ve yet to find out._

Their faces had become branded on his mind; he had seen them through his sister’s eyes when they had raided ‘ _The Moody Hippogriff’, a_ pub in Diagon Alley noted for being a squib hangout. Bianca had worked there part time, not since she would have needed the money, but because she had liked the _atmosphere_ or whatever. Blaise had never really got it; in his eyes _The Moody Hippogriff_ attracted quite skewed a clientele: werewolves, racketeers, squibs; misfits of the wizarding community altogether. To his horror Bianca had liked to talk to those people, to _befriend_ them even.

No matter how many times he had begged her to avoid unnecessary risks; she had been fearless, if not reckless. _I won’t hide out in the Muggle world forever,_ she had told him. Not that she hadn’t enjoyed living among Muggles; she had enthusiastically attended a Muggle school, often raving about how smart and resourceful the Muggles were in terms of having to live without magic. Yet Bianca hadn’t wanted to turn her back on the wizarding society; she had firmly kept a foot in both worlds.

_You worry too much, Blaise_ , she had said, mocking him for sensing danger lurking around every corner. Yet he couldn’t help himself; he had always been fiercely protective of his twin. She had been so vulnerable, so _fragile;_ protecting her had been his life purpose. _And now I’ve failed._

Black despair took hold of him, engulfing him in the abyss. This time Blaise didn’t try to fight it, the yawning void was his penalty. _You have to burn in hell to atone for your sins._ He welcomed the fire, allowed it to spread through his mind. The blazing flames burned away his ego, his pride, everything that had defined and driven him. Dreams, hopes, plans for the future… all for nothing, meaningless. There was only one path left for him to choose now. _Revenge._

 

 


	17. Where Do We Go from Here

When Elena finally awoke from her sleep, it was like coming out of a coma. Her body felt stiff and heavy; when she carefully tried to move, every single one of her muscles protested. The agony was excruciating, she couldn’t help but groan with pain. _Guess that means I’m still alive,_ she thought dully; unimaginable that death was so uncomfortable.

She wished desperately to be able to return to the soft blackness that had surrounded her; she would happily stay there forever. Reality was harsh and cruel. Reality was the numbing pain in her body and the aching hole where her heart had been. _Mum..._

Elena remembered every single detail of the Death Eater attack with disturbing clarity; like a horror movie her mind played it on continuous loop, there was no escape from the horrible images. Once again she saw the flames engulfing her mother’s body, heard her screaming in agony… A strangled sob escaped her, desperation threatened to overwhelm her senses. _What am I to do without Mum?_

She had no answer to that question. _Better start with an easier one. Where the hell am I?_ Hesitantly she opened her eyes, to be met with the sight of a light blue canopy above her. _Another bloody four-poster bed_ , she realized. _But how did I get here? And where is here, anyway?_ Searching for clues, she let her gaze wander around the room.

_Very posh,_ was her first impression of her surroundings, before a soft snoring drew her attention. _Gideon._ Her cousin was sitting in an armchair next to the bed, fast asleep. She took a moment to study him. There were dark circles under his eyes, and a distinct stubble on his face indicated that he hadn’t shaved in days. _Guess I was out cold for quite a while,_ she mused.

As if he had sensed her staring at him, he opened his eyes and sat up straight, instantly wide awake. “You’re awake,” he stated the obvious. “How are you feeling?”

Elena frowned at him. “Oh, just peachy,” she told him sarcastically.

He had the decency to look slightly ashamed. “Sorry, that was a stupid question,” he said. “But seriously, let me check on you.” He extended his hand towards her as if he wanted to check for her pulse or something.

Instinctively she pulled away, yanking up the bed spread to cover herself. _My clothes are gone,_ she realized with panic. Instead she was wearing some kind of _nightgown,_ featuring long, wide sleeves and far too much lace ruffles for her taste. “Where the hell are my clothes?” she snarled at him. _You better not touched me!_

Gideon raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Your clothes were torn and tattered, Misty put these on you.”

“Misty is here?” she asked, taken by surprise.

He nodded. “Yes. She came in search of her new mistress. She’s yours now, you know.”

Realization hit her in full force. _House-elves are handed on like property. Misty belonged to Mum, that means she’s mine now… because Mum is… dead._ With the pain threatening to overwhelm her, she channeled her emotion into anger. “I don’t need a house-elf!” she told him irately. 

Gideon just shrugged his shoulders. “You’ll get used to it. Now let me check on you.” He extended his hand again – a request.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I don’t think so.”

Her cousin sighed resignedly. “I’m not your enemy, Elena.”

Eying him suspiciously, she wondered about his words. _I don’t really know this guy,_ she realized. _Mum seemed to trust him, but she’s dead now._

Gideon watched her expectantly. “What are you thinking? Talk to me.”

She decided to voice her concerns. “Why should I trust you at all?”

At her accusing tone her cousin perked his perfect eyebrows. “Well, let’s think about this,” he replied, slightly ironic, “I just saved your life, so that could be a clue.”

_Right,_ Elena remembered, _he hid me from the Death Eaters, but he also hid himself, the bloody coward._ She scowled at him. “I never asked you to do that.”

Seemingly unperturbed, he held her gaze. “You could just say ‘ _Thank you_ ’, you know.”

His condescending manner made her livid. “You want me to _thank you_?” she yelled at him. “You held me back while my mother was tortured and killed!”

Gideon didn’t even flinch. “You couldn’t have saved her,” he said calmly. “Believe me, I know how you feel right now, but there was nothing you could have done.”

“I could’ve tried at least!” Elena cried out, bursting into tears. “And you’ve no idea what it feels like!

Her cousin raised his hand, as if he wanted to comfort her, but she flinched away. He let it sink again, sighing. “Actually I do,” he said then, for the first time losing his air of condescension. “I was five when I watched my father die.” He let the statement hang in the air between them without elaborating further.

She stared at him, tears still streaming down her face. “I… I’m sorry…” she stammered, her voice slightly croaky.

“No need to apologize, you didn’t know… and that was a long time ago.” A shadow of pain passed across his face, but in the blink of an eye he had regained his composure. He leaned towards her. “You couldn’t have done anything, Elena.” His tone was insistent. “If they had found you there, you would be dead now, too. Or worse than that.”

She shivered involuntarily. “What did they want anyway?” With the sleeve of her nightgown she wiped away some of her tears.

“I don’t know for sure,” Gideon replied thoughtfully. “You know your mother worked as an auror before she left the country?”

Elena nodded.

“Well,” he continued, “she made powerful enemies back then, put some of the Dark Lord’s most devoted followers into Azkaban.”

“Azkaban?” she inquired.

“Britannia’s prison for convicted criminals,” her cousin illuminated. “It used to be escape-proof, but when the Dark Lord rose to power again, he uncaged some of its most dangerous inmates.” His noble features contorted in disgust. “Some of them you saw there that night; Greyback, the Carrows, _Bellatrix Lestrange_ …” The last name he hissed with his teeth clenched.  

At the mention of her mother’s killer the pain and anxiety Elena had felt were replaced by burning hatred and a wild fury that seemed to blaze white-hot. “I’m going to kill her!” she snarled.

Gideon regarded her statement with a worried look, in which sympathy and pity mingled. “I would strongly advise against trying that for the time being, Elena. She could kill you with a snap of her fingers.”

“I’m going to kill her!” she insisted stubbornly. “Greyback, too; and the Carrows… every single one of them!” Her fury disappeared just as suddenly as it had flared up, dissolving into floods of tears.

Her cousin seemed startled by her outburst; looking slightly helpless he lifted his hand to pat her shoulder. This time she didn’t flinch away; instead she leaned towards him, uncontrollably sobbing into his chest.

He froze, seemingly surprised by her sudden closeness. Then he put his arms around her, gently rubbing her back. “I know, Elena, I know…” he murmured into her hair, “I want to avenge her, too.” His voice was slightly hoarse. “But we can’t rush into this heedlessly; we need to know what’s behind it, make a plan…” He trailed off, his arms around her tightened. “And then we will have our revenge, I promise.”

 

* * *

 

 

When she had finally run out of tears, she carefully disengaged herself from his arms, feeling slightly shy.

Gideon gave her an encouraging smile. “Well,” he said, making an effort to sound lively, “you slept for three days, you must be really hungry.”

Elena realized that he was right, she was famished. “Three days?” she asked in alarm.

“Yes, but after the way you exhausted yourself that’s not unusual.” He shook his head in disbelief. “Seriously, I’ve never seen anything like that. You brought down the whole house.”

“I did?” she replied sheepishly; her memory of the outburst was somewhat blurred.

“You did,” her cousin confirmed. “I barely managed to get us out of there before the roof collapsed.”

_So he saved my life twice,_ Elena thought, rather embarrassed about the way she had yelled at him earlier. “Thank you,” she mumbled ruefully.

“You’re welcome.” He sounded like he meant it. “So,” he said then, getting up from his seat to stretch. “Would you like some breakfast?” His shirt was ruined, she noticed, the front completely soaked with her tears.

When she nodded, he went on. “Maybe you would like to have a shower first; the bathroom is behind that door… I think,” he added, somewhat unsure. He opened the door he had pointed out to take a look. “Oh no, that would be the closet,” he realized. “So the bathroom should be over there.” He pointed to another door. “You have to excuse me; I don’t have overnight guests here very often. I think I’ve never used this room before.”

“Where are we, anyway?” Elena asked, slightly confused.

“My house,” Gideon enlightened her. “When you are ready for breakfast, call for Misty; she can show you the way to the dining room.” He turned to leave, but looked back when he opened the door. “Before I forget, I sent Misty to get some spare clothes for you from our cousin Daphne, she’s your age and about your size, so if you want to change into something else…,” he paused and regarded her frilly nightgown with an amused look, “you know where the closet is.” And with that he turned and left the room.

_Our cousin Daphne?_ Elena thought with surprise. _Guess that’s who that Malfoy guy took me for…_ She felt like her run-in with the pompous git had been ages ago. _So there’s the reason why I look like her: we are related…_ Mulling that realization, she got out of bed and went to search for the bathroom.

 

* * *

 

 

Elena stared at her reflection in the mirror. _Seriously?_ As it appeared, her cousin’s sense of fashion didn’t quite match her own. The spare clothes the mysterious _Daphne_ had graciously supplied her with had turned out to be a collection of fancy dresses, a few skirts and some blouses, everything brand-new and obviously expensive designer clothing. In vain she had looked for jeans and a t-shirt, before she had resigned herself to her fate and grabbed some trousers and a fitted blouse.

Apparently her cousin was taller than her, yet more slender; the borrowed trousers were too long and uncomfortably tight. Not to mention the blouse, it bagged on her in all the wrong places; she simply looked ridiculous. To top it all there were no shoes, at least no shoes which gave the impression to be made for actually walking in them; Elena glared at the array of high heels with reluctance. In the end she opted to go in socks.

With one last frown at her reflection she took a deep breath, bracing herself. Then she called for the house-elf that was hers now. “Misty!”

The elf appeared with a crack, immediately taking a deep bow. “Yes, Mistress?” 

“Gideon said you could show me to the dining room. Would you be so kind, Misty?” Elena asked her, trying hard to hide the discomfort the sight of her mother’s house-elf caused her.

Misty beamed at her. “Of course, Mistress. Misty will do anything Mistress Elena asks of her,” she squealed, bowing again. “Just follow Misty, the dining room is right this way.”

 

* * *

 

The walk to the dining room took them quite some time; the building appeared to be far more spacious and winding than her Mother’s townhouse had been. Yet the lavish style of furnishing and décor was the same, it implied not very subtly that the de Villiers family wallowed in money. Misty led her through corridor after corridor, one time they went upstairs, then downstairs again; it didn’t take long for Elena to become totally lost. The distinguished-looking people in the portraits they passed along the way eyed her disdainfully, whispering among themselves. Finally Misty opened a door and beckoned her inside.

They entered a large, elegantly furnished room; the long dining table could have seated at least twenty people comfortably. Her cousin was already sitting at one end of the table, intently studying a newspaper; in front of him an ample breakfast was arranged. At her entrance he put the paper aside to give her an inviting smile.

“Please, have a seat.” Gideon referred her to the place next to him.

As she sat down, she noticed that he had changed clothes and shaved; he was back to his immaculate appearance. He was eying her as well, taking in her ill-fitting outfit and shoeless feet with an amused smirk. She gritted her teeth to refrain from bawling him out. _He might have saved my life, but he’s still an arrogant git!_

“Would Mistress Elena like some tea?” Misty squealed. She was standing at Elena’s elbow, holding a pot of tea, ready to pour.

“Um… actually I would rather drink coffee, if it’s not too much trouble,” Elena replied.

“But of course, Mistress!” The house-elf snapped her fingers and the pot of tea was replaced by a pot of coffee. Misty poured her a cup and then disapparated after taking another deep bow.

Gideon wrinkled his nose at her choice of beverage; like any respectable Brit he was drinking tea. She ignored him and took a sip from her cup, before helping herself to a buttered croissant. For a while they ate in silence.

“So,” Elena said eventually, in an attempt of conversation, “this is your house?”  

Her cousin nodded, but stayed quiet.

“And you live here by yourself?” she tried again.

Gideon looked up from his plate to meet her gaze. “I do. But I’ve got my house-elves to keep me company.”

_House-elves in the plural_ , she thought disparagingly, _why would you need more than one?_ She bit back a scathing remark. “This house is rather… _large_ for one person,” she couldn’t help but note.

Her cousin shrugged his shoulders. “After you blew up your mother’s house it’s the smallest property currently in possession of the family,” he said, slightly patronizing. “Wait till you see Royceston Manor, compared to that estate this house is a shack.”

He smirked at her disbelieving look. “No kidding!” Then he turned serious again. “I didn’t choose it for size, but for its security measures; it’s the oldest building we own, therefore are the wards on it quite strong.”  

She had no idea what he was talking about, but nodded as if she was able to follow.

Gideon regarded her for a moment. “Don’t worry, Elena,” he said smoothly. “You’re safe here.”

Suddenly her throat felt constricted; she gulped. “I’ve no idea what I’m going to do now… you know, without Mum.” Her eyes filled with tears again. “I don’t even have a place to live anymore…” She blinked rapidly, trying hard to keep from crying.

Unexpectedly she felt his hand lightly touching her own. “Don’t you worry about that,” he said gently. “You can stay with me.”

Stunned by his offer, she stared at him, lost for words.

“That’s if you want to.” Her cousin raised an eyebrow. “Though I’m afraid that living with me might be your only option at the moment.”

Elena cleared her throat. “Why are you doing this? You don’t even know me…”

Gideon returned her wondering gaze without blinking. “It’s what your mother would have wanted,” he stated simply.

She didn’t know how to respond to that; she had a thick lump in her throat.

Eventually Gideon broke the silence, letting go of her hand. “You’re power is growing faster than I would have hoped,” he noted.

Startled by his sudden chance of topic, Elena frowned. “How can you tell?”

“I can sense it when I touch your skin,” he explained. Her lack of understanding must have shown on her face, for he immediately elaborated. “You never learned control; therefore your power is coursing freely in your blood. Another bender can feel that.”

“So I can’t feel anything when I touch you because you’ve learned this… _control thing_ , right?” she inquired to make sure she had understand him correctly.

“Exactly,” he nodded. “When you learn control you sort of erect a mental _wall_ around the source of your power, to keep it from bursting out involuntarily. But it also helps to obscure your strength from an opponent, you know. If you have to face another bender in a duel, you don’t want him to know how strong you truly are.”

Processing all this information, Elena couldn’t help but wonder. “Have you ever been in a duel?”

A strange look she couldn’t quite read passed across his features. “No, I haven’t,” Gideon answered somewhat reserved, “dueling with elemental magic is kind of… well, _frowned upon_ since the last war. You should know that nowadays a lot of people are afraid of us benders.”

She frowned. “Why is that?”

“What do you know about the Dark Lord?” he asked in return.

Elena shrugged her shoulders. “Well, he’s the most powerful and dangerous Dark wizard of all time; hates Muggles, Muggleborns and Harry Potter… oh, and he came back from the dead.” She shuddered at the memory.

Gideon nodded. “Yes, that’s right, but first and foremost he is one of the most powerful benders to ever walk the earth. Before he showed his true colours a lot of other benders followed his lead; he was viewed by many as some kind of _messiah_ , come to revive the good old days.” His voice had turned slightly bitter.

“Even after his true nature became apparent, he was able to recruit most of his first Death Eaters from within the ranks of the benders; he promised them power, prestige, even immortality…” He shook his head, scowling. “They did terrible things in his name, wreaked havoc, tortured and murdered… there’s not much a normal wizard or witch can do to actually counter a bender, you know.”

Elena hung on his every word with some morbid sense of fascination. “So that’s why people are afraid of benders?”

“Yes,” he affirmed. “And that’s also why no one can know about your powers.” He gave her a poignant look. “I wasn’t exaggerating when I said I’ve never seen anything like you did; you’re stronger than the average bender and you can control different elements…” Disbelievingly he shook his head. “If the Dark Lord ever learned about you, he would want you for his collection. He would want to recruit you, or kill you.”

She stared at him in horror. “I’ve never asked for this power…” Her voice sounded slightly strained. “I don’t want it.”

Gideon gave her a pitiful look. “That doesn’t matter. Your powers got unleashed, which means you have to learn to control them.” His tone was insistent. “Or they will kill you.”

Cold fear spread through her veins, she had to try hard to keep her voice from shaking. “Guess I don’t have a choice then,” she said, a bit more boldly than she actually felt. “You said you could teach me.”

“Actually I won’t be able to do that,” her cousin said, somewhat apologetic. “I know I promised I would help you, but that was before I knew how strong you truly are. I can’t teach you.”

Shell-shocked, she gaped at him. “So what do I do now?” Her voice betrayed her panic.

“Don’t worry, Elena,” Gideon hurried to reassure her. “I already found another teacher for you.” 

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You just told me at great length how nobody can know of my powers, and then you go ahead and tell somebody else?”

To her uttermost astonishment he answered her accusation with a crooked smile. “Believe me, your secret is safe. He would never betray you to the Dark Lord.” There wasn’t a hint of a doubt in his voice.

“And who is _he_?” she wanted to know.

“The only one the Dark Lord ever feared,” Gideon answered solemnly. “Albus Dumbledore.”

"Dumbledore?” Elena asked in utter astonishment. “ _The_ Dumbledore?”

“Precisely.” Gideon grinned at her puzzled expression. “I went to see him yesterday and he agreed to be your teacher.”  

“Did he...” Elena muttered, still quite disbelieving. “Isn’t he... _busy_?” she couldn’t help but ask. “You know, saving the world and all that stuff...”

This caused her cousin to outright laugh at her before he turned serious again. “You’re right, of course,” he admitted. “Dumbledore is a very busy man, but he always has been known to help those in need. And you do need his help, unless you would rather learn from the Dark Lord himself.”

Elena stared at his sober expression, trying to figure out whether he was joking. He seemed to be dead serious. She gulped. “Why would you say that?”

“I’m sorry, that was a little insensitive of me.” He shrugged his shoulders. “However, it’s true; in order to learn control you need a fully fledged bender whose powers are at least comparable to your own.” He gave her a pointed look. “And in your case that leaves us with either Dumbledore or the Dark Lord.”

She shivered involuntarily. “Dumbledore it is then.”

Gideon smirked. “I’m glad we can agree on that.”

He poured himself another cup of tea, meticulously adding milk and stirring twice before taking a sip. Then he returned his attention towards her.

“I assume that once you have mastered control you’re going to want to learn the actual bending, am I right?”

Elena shrugged her shoulders. “I kinda thought that was one and the same.”

“No, it definitely isn’t.” Decidedly Gideon shook his head. “When we talk about learning control, that’s to make sure your powers don’t kill you. You learn how to manage and contain them; usually it takes a few weeks, no longer. But learning how to use your powers to actually control an element will take years of practice.”

_“Years?_ ” Her voice clearly betrayed her consternation.

Seemingly amused by her naiveté, her cousin condescended to elaborate. “Well, nowadays the average bender takes seven years to study, the time he spends in school. When entering Hogwarts all students take part in a sorting ceremony in which they are tested for a dormant gift, among other things. If a gifted student decides to become a bender, a teacher is assigned to him, and he spends the next seven years learning and training. By the time he leaves Hogwarts he should have mastered his element.”

“And if he hasn’t?” Elena asked, completely captivated by Gideon’s explanations.

He shrugged. “Seven years are plenty of time. Of course there are always differences between one bender and the next; natural talent and strength, but also intensity of training and personal determination. It’s like being a Quidditch player; if you want to stay on top of your game you need to train constantly.”

Elena regarded him with a quizzical look. “So how often do _you_ train?”

Gideon met her gaze with a blank expression. “Every single day.”

She couldn’t help but gape at him. “ _Why_? Do you simply enjoy it or are your powers so weak that you need the exercise?” The provoking question was out of her mouth before she could stop herself.

Her cousin snorted indignantly. “Cheeky little thing, aren’t you?” To her relief she saw his mouth stretch into a small smile; he didn’t seem to be too annoyed with her. “Just so you know, I’m considered rather powerful amongst my peers.” He sounded quite pleased with himself.

_If you are so powerful, then why didn’t you do anything when the Death Eaters murdered my mother?_ A tiny critical voice piped up in her head, reminding her that she didn’t actually know her cousin all that well. She was inclined to trust him; after all he had saved her life, offered her a place to live and was trying to help with the whole bender stuff. _And yet... healthy scepticism won’t do any harm._

She forced herself to return his smile. “If you’re really that powerful, why do you have to train every day?”

The smile slipped from his handsome features; once again he turned dead serious. “I have some powerful enemies, people who would rather see me dead.”

Elena tried to keep her expression unperturbed. He had said it so matter-of-factly, like having a bunch of deadly foes was no big deal for him. “And who are those people?” She made an effort to keep her voice from shaking.

Gideon gave her a knowing look; she hadn’t fooled him. “No need for panic, this house is safe.”

She didn’t feel reassured. “So you said, but you have to leave it from time to time, don’t you? Are you saying that there are people who would attack you on the street?” As soon as she had asked the question, she realized how stupid it was.

He frowned. “You aren’t in the States anymore, Elena. Britannia is a dangerous place, no matter who you are; you have to understand that.”

Elena nodded sheepishly. “I understand.”

“Good.” He gave her a pointed look. “I expect you to act accordingly. You’re not to leave this house unless I accompany you, is that understood?” He seemed to radiate authority; it was hard to meet his stern stare.

Yet she couldn’t just give in. “You can’t keep me prisoner here!” she protested stubbornly.

Gideon didn’t seem impressed. “Yes I could, but I’m counting on your common sense. I just want to protect you, like I promised your mother.”

There wasn’t anything she could retort to that. It wasn’t like wandering around had done her any good when she had decided to explore London on her own. She decided to admit defeat for now. “Fine.”

Apparently satisfied with her answer, her cousin took another sip of tea before checking his watch. “Dumbledore should be here any minute. Are you done with breakfast?”

Elena, who had been nipping at her cup, almost choked on her coffee. “Dumbledore is coming here? _Today_?”

Gideon shrugged his shoulders. “He wanted to see you as soon as you woke up, so I send him a message earlier. He replied immediately.”

The prospect of having to face Albus Dumbledore in just a few minutes was intimidating. Her anxiety must have shown in her expression, for her cousin send her a knowing smirk.

“No need to look so worried, he’s not going to bite, you know.” His amusement was obvious.

She glared at him. “I’m not afraid!”

His smirk deepened. “If you say so.”

Elena frowned. “Okay, I might be a little intimidated. But it’s _Dumbledore_!”

Gideon’s expression softened. “He’s usually rather friendly and kind. And he’s coming here to help you, don’t forget that.”

At that moment his old house-elf appeared with a pop. “Master Gideon, Professor Dumbledore has arrived. He is waiting in the parlour,” he announced.

“Thank you, Lookey.” Gideon got up from the table, sending her a reassuring look. “Time to meet your teacher, Elena.”

Trying to ignore the nervous flutter in her stomach she got up and followed him from the room.

 


	18. Moonlight Whispers

“That’s it, Ron, you’re off the team!” Harry yelled in a fury.

“Please Harry, don’t do that to me,” Ron begged whiningly, “I thought we were friends!”

“You’re not my friend anymore; you didn’t catch a single Quaffle!” Harry bawled at him without mercy. “Get out of my sight!”

With his face flushing beet red Ron stormed off; Hermione watched in horror as he threw himself right into the arms of Fleur Delacour, who was waiting to comfort him. Her heart broke into a million pieces.

Harry turned towards her. “Hermione, you’re our new keeper. Here, put these on.”

“But Harry, I can’t even fly!” she tried to protest, but he forced her into Ron’s oversized Quidditch uniform, putting a helmet on her head that looked oddly like Luna Lovegood’s crazy lion hat.

“Hermione, we have to beat Slytherin, our lives depend on that,” Harry told her grimly, “can I count on you?”

“Of course, Harry,” she said frantically, “but I really think it would be better if…”

“Great,” Harry cut her off, “they’re waiting, let’s go!” And he marched out onto the Quidditch field to shake the hand of Draco Malfoy.

A whistle shrilled through the air, Madam Hooch had started the match. In response the stupid hat on her head gave a load roar. Desperately Hermione pushed herself off the ground, trying to get into the air. Yet her broom wouldn’t submit to her will; it bucked and trundled, she had to cling to it for dear life. She could hear the crowd bursting into sardonic laughter; they booed and barracked her, and then they started to sing: “ _Mudblood is our Queen”_. When she risked a glance towards the ground she could see Pansy Parkinson conducting the audience.

Suddenly the green-clad fans erupted into cheers and applause, apparently Draco Malfoy had scored the first goal; he seemed to be playing chaser today.

“Hermione, what the bloody hell are you waiting for, get up there!” Ginny yelled furiously; she was racing over, her red hair swirling around her head.

Behind her the Slytherin team grouped into a new formation; all of the sudden Hermione realized that they all were wearing Death Eater masks. “Ginny, watch out! Behind you!” she screamed in horror.

“Don’t worry, we’ve got this,” Ginny shouted back, “but you have to guard the goals!” And with that Ginny and the rest of the Gryffindor team, which curiously consisted of Sirius, Tonks, Moody, Lupin and Harry, flew against the Death Eaters, their wands at hand.

Eventually Hermione reached the goal posts, only to find herself face to face with Draco Malfoy, who was sneering at her. “I have to say this hat really does go well with that hair of yours, Mudblood,” he drawled.

Behind him a full-blown battle was unfolding; jets of light flashed through the air, and Ginny was shooting what looked like beams of energy from her hand. Then Hermione saw a curse hit Sirius square in the chest, he slid sideways from his broom and next he was falling, rushing towards the ground…

“Sirius!” yelled Harry; he dived after his godfather, trying to catch him. Instantly half a dozen Death Eaters were after him.

“Harry!” she screamed in panic, frantically searching for her wand in the bottomless pockets of Ron’s Quidditch robes.

“Forget about Potter,” Malfoy said snidely, “you better worry for yourself!” And indeed, suddenly she realized that the Quaffle in Malfoy’s hand had transformed into a fireball; he was aiming for her. “Any last words?”

His voice had changed, it was way higher and colder now; his face was changing, too; melting like wax. Startled, she blinked; and then she was looking into the face of her worst nightmare. His snake-like features were white and gaunt, his scarlet, slit-pupiled eyes staring at her without emotion. “Time to die, Mudblood,” Voldemort said softly.

The second the blazing fireball hit her body she woke up, drenched in sweat.

 

* * *

 

With her heart hammering in her chest she sat up on the mattress. _It was just a stupid nightmare,_ she tried to calm herself down, _get it together!_ The moon shone brightly through the window, casting a beam of light across the foot of Ginny’s bed. She was sleeping peacefully, as Hermione could tell from her slow and steady breathing.

_What a bunch of crap!_ She thought, still caught up in her nightmare. _That’s what you get when you fret too much; your worries haunt you in your dreams…_ Going back to sleep was out of the question, she was far too worked up for that. Sighing resignedly, she shoved away the blanket. _I need some air._

Quietly she opened the door to leave Ginny’s room. All those summers spent at the Burrow had left her with the ability to descend the winding, well-trod staircase without making a sound. She crossed the kitchen and exited the house through the back door; stepping into the backyard. Bathed in light by the full moon, the Weasleys’ garden looked just like a scene from a fairy tale; immediately she felt calmer.

“Hermione?” The sudden voice from the shadows almost gave her a heart attack.

“Harry?” He was sitting on a bench, half-hidden behind some of Mrs Weasley’s beautiful rosebushes. She let herself flop down next to him. “Merlin, you scared the hell out of me!”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Harry apologized. Up close she realized he looked horrible; he had dark circles under his eyes like he hadn’t slept in days.

“What are you doing out here?” She asked him without being able to keep the worry from her voice.

He shrugged his shoulders. “Couldn’t sleep,” he said curtly, “what about you?”

“Just woke up from a crazy nightmare,” Hermione answered, “actually you were part of it.”

“Really?” He regarded her questioningly. “What happened?”

“Well, you kicked Ron off the Quidditch team and then made me the new keeper,” she told him, shaking her head at the memory. “You forced me to wear his robes and Luna’s crazy lion hat. I didn’t want to play, but you said that our lives depended on beating the Slytherins…”

Slowly Harry’s incredulous frown dissolved into a grin. It was the first time she saw him smile in days, she realized with a start.

“That’s so true,” he laughed, “and there I was thinking you never got the true significance of Quidditch. How did it go?”

“I think we won,” she lied smoothly, deciding that he didn’t need to hear the part about the Death Eaters and Voldemort. _Not to mention Sirius…_ She forced herself to return his smile.

Harry chuckled. “Don’t worry, Hermione. Before I would make you keeper I’d rather choose Neville, no offense!”

“Non taken.” She smiled, this time full-heartedly. It there was one thing she had no ambition to shine at, it would be Quidditch.

For a while they sat in silence, simply enjoying each other’s company. The only thing disturbing the peace and quiet of the night was a faint rustling and mumbling from the bushes, apparently the Weasley’s garden gnomes were up as well.

Harry was the first one to move; sighing, he raked his fingers through his already tousled hair.

Hermione turned towards him. “Seriously Harry, what’s up with you? You have been quiet and moody for days now. Please talk to me.”

Immediately his face assumed a shuttered expression; he crossed his arms in front of his chest. “I’ve told you that I’m fine, Hermione, why can’t you just leave it at that?”

“Because I’m worried about you!” Her answer came out urgently; she felt the desperate need to finally break through the wall of silence he had built around himself. “Tell me, what is it? The prophecy, You-Know-Who… or Sirius?”

Harry scowled at her. “I don’t want to talk about it!”

She wasn’t about to let him off that easily. “I know you like to bottle things up, Harry, but that’s not healthy! If you don’t want to talk to me, then talk to… _Ron_ or Lupin, if you like, but talk to _someone_!”

He huffed, and then his gaze turned resigned. “You’re never going to shut up about it, right?”

“No, I won’t,” she smirked, knowing that she had won.

Harry sighed, once again running his fingers through his hair. “I don’t even know where to start…”

He sounded so hopeless and upset that she felt the urge to wrap her arms around him for comfort; but she hung back. Harry wasn’t a great hugger; now that he was finally about to break his silence she didn’t want to scare him off.

“It’s okay to be afraid, you know,” she said tentatively. “I am, too; and I don’t have to face You-Know-Who on my own…”

Vigorously he cut her short. “It’s not about bloody Voldemort!”

She couldn’t help but wince at the mention of the name.

Harry snorted at her reaction. “Seriously, when are you going to realize that fear of his name only makes you dread him even more? You’re supposed to be smart, Hermione!” He gave her a piercing look.

“I’m sorry, it’s sort of a bad habit, I guess…,” she tried to appease him. “Though you can’t tell me that you aren’t afraid of him, Harry,” she added, holding her ground.

“Of course I’m afraid of him,” he admitted, averting his gaze. “I would be stupid if I wasn’t. Yet this whole prophecy-thing hasn’t changed anything for me… I guess I always knew it would come to that, you know… that I would have to face him in the end.”

“Oh Harry,” she said, rather alarmed with the serene way he talked about his inevitable duel with You-Know-Who. _Voldemort_ , she thought, _Harry is right, you should start using his real name_. She cleared her throat. “You know you’re not alone, right? You’ll always have me, and Ron as well; we’re there for you,” she told him genuinely.

Harry sighed. “I wish you wouldn’t engage so much, Hermione,” he said quietly, still avoiding her gaze.

His words left her dumbfounded; he couldn’t have hurt her more if he had hit her. Gulping, she felt herself tearing up. “You don’t mean that, do you?” Her voice betrayed her feelings; Harry’s head snapped up.   

“Blimey, I’m sorry, Hermione…” He sighed. “I didn’t mean it like that; it’s just that the people close to me have a tendency to end up being collateral damage in this conflict between me and Voldemort, you know…” Once more he ran his fingers through his hopelessly messed-up hair. “Voldemort heard the prophecy and came after me; my parents tried to protect me and he killed them…” His voice was bitter. “And now the same thing happened with Sirius…” He broke off, scowling as if he had said too much.

“You don’t seriously blame yourself for his death, do you?” Hermione cut in decidedly. “It’s not your fault, Harry!”

“Then whose fault is it? If I had just taken that blasted Occlumency-thing seriously, Voldemort would never have managed to put that vision in my head; there would have been no need for us to go to the Ministry… I put all of you in danger, Hermione; you and Ron and the others…” He trailed off, desperation evident in his expression. “Sirius died because of me!” He buried his head in his hands.

Feeling rather helpless, she lifted her hand to pat his shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault, Harry, do you hear me? You-Know-… - _Voldemort_ used your feelings for Sirius to lure you into a trap…”

Generously she skipped over the fact that she had spent months nagging him to take his Occlumency lessons more seriously. “You were convinced he had Sirius in his clutches and you went to the Ministry to save him. That was the bravest thing I’ve ever seen you do and I’ve known you for five years now.”

Harry harrumphed, it sounded like a mixture of a laugh and a sob. “I guess you meant to say that was the stupidest thing you’ve ever seen me do, am I right?”

“No, Harry, I meant what I said,” she insisted. “It was heedless, yes,” she qualified, “but brave nonetheless.”

He lifted his head from his hands; his eyes slightly red. “It doesn’t change the outcome, Hermione, he’s still dead.” He sounded sullen. “Sirius is gone because of me.”

She sighed, shaking her head. “You know he would have given his life for you without hesitation, don’t you?”

“I never asked anyone to die for me!” Harry burst out.

“Of course not,” she tried to calm him, “yet he would have done it. He loved you like a son, Harry.”

“I’m not so sure of that…,” he muttered under his breath.

She frowned at him. “How can you say that? He loved you; we all knew he did.”

“Lately I feel like I didn’t know him at all,” Harry said quietly. “There’s just so much we never talked about; he never found it worth mentioning that it was his _girlfriend_ who put him into Azkaban, the woman he had a _daughter_ with…” He trailed off.

Completely aghast, she stared at him. _So this is it, the thing he has been brooding about…_ Preparing herself, she cleared her throat. “Listen to me, Harry; for one thing you don’t even know whether that girl is his daughter, Lupin said that Sirius himself wasn’t sure about it. And for another thing, Catherine de Villiers was pronounced dead years ago; Sirius must have thought she and her daughter were dead.”

Questioningly Harry raised his head to look at her. “How do you know that?”

Hermione shrugged her shoulders. “Well, I was curious, so I asked Mrs Weasley about it.”

When she saw that he was hanging on her every word, she went on. “It just didn’t seem to fit, you know, a high and mighty _de Villiers_ as an auror…” She shook her head, still having trouble to believe it; she had thought she knew everything there was to know about the de Villiers family.

When she had first learned that she was a witch, she had desperately wanted to find her magical origins, some distant ancestors she had inherited her magical abilities from. Hermione had practically spent every free minute of her first year at Hogwarts in the library, reading everything it had to offer dealing with the known wizard families of Britannia. Though she hadn’t been able to discover a link to herself, she had developed some dark fascination with the old Pureblood families, who had been ruling the country for centuries.

She cleared her throat. “Apparently Catherine de Villiers rebelled against her family’s traditions and ideals, much like Sirius; she was a Gryffindor, though practically every other de Villiers who ever lived was in Slytherin. After finishing Hogwarts she did the unthinkable and became an auror, much to her family’s chagrin. And then she had a daughter, without being married first…” She shook her head, annoyed with the bigotry and narrow-mindedness still prevalent in the Pureblood society.

“After that her family cast her out, though she became one of the best aurors Britannia ever had. She put some of Voldemort’s most devoted followers into Azkaban, and Sirius, too…” Hermione paused, carefully monitoring Harry’s reaction. So far he had been listening calmly, but she feared that it was only the quiet before the storm.

Cautiously she continued. “A few weeks after Sirius had been sentenced, she just… _disappeared_. Evidently the de Villiers family was only too happy to finally have the black sheep out of the picture; they had her pronounced dead to gain access to her money.”

“Why would they need her money?” Harry interjected. “Aurors aren’t paid that well, and it’s not like the de Villiers could possibly have any shortage of money…”

Hermione shrugged her shoulders. He was right; with their hold on Gringotts the de Villiers were richer than the Malfoys. “Apparently she was never officially disinherited, so she got her share of the family’s fortune when she turned seventeen… I guess they wanted that back.”

Harry frowned. “And you learned all of this from Mrs Weasley?”

“What can I say, everything the de Villiers do is well covered by the tabloids…” She let the statement hang in the air, letting him draw his own conclusions. It was no secret that Mrs Weasley was a loyal reader of _Witch Weekly._

“I definitely understand how somebody wants to get away from a family like that, and after everything that happened with Sirius it’s no wonder that she left…” She shrugged her shoulders. “What I don’t get is why she came back.”

“She came back because of her daughter,” Harry said without hesitation.

Hermione stared at him in confusion. “Why would you think that?”

“I just know.” There wasn’t a hint of a doubt in his voice.

 

 


	19. The Mists of the Past

Dumbledore was awaiting them in the parlour; a tall, thin man clad in purple robes, with long, silver hair and a matching beard. He appeared to be immensely old; it was hard to believe that he was the same man whom she had watched vigorously duelling Voldemort only a few weeks past. As he greeted Gideon jovially, her gaze fell on his right hand which was blackened and shrivelled; it looked as though the flesh had been burned away.  

“And this must be Elena.”

Dumbledore had turned his attention towards her. Clear blue eyes scrutinized her thoroughly from behind half-moon spectacles. She felt small and insignificant under his gaze, having the sense that he could read her as easily as a book. Albus Dumbledore might have appeared old and frail at first sight, but the aura of power and authority he was radiating revealed that there was more to the man than met the eye.  

She gulped nervously, not quite sure how to act. _Am I supposed to greet him or do I wait until he addresses me?_

As if on cue he gave her a warm smile. “Let me introduce myself: I am Albus Dumbledore, but you probably guessed as much.” His manner was friendly and engaging.

Elena replied with a short nod, not certain whether she could trust her voice to work.

“Allow me to offer you my deepest sympathies on what happened to your mother.”

Compassion was evident in his voice and eyes; involuntarily she felt herself tearing up.

“Thank you,” she managed to choke out; her throat felt constricted. Elena fought the stupid tears; she didn’t want to cry again and certainly not in front of Dumbledore.

Kindly he allowed her a moment to compose herself, busying himself with intently studying the painting over the fireplace.

Eventually Gideon cleared his throat, seemingly running out of patience. “We appreciate your quickly visit, Professor. As I told you last time we spoke, my cousin here is in need of your help.”

“Indeed…” Dumbledore regarded her thoughtfully for a moment. Then he took a few steps closer and extended his left hand towards her. “Would you mind if I saw for myself?”

She guessed what he was asking, and after some hesitation offered him her right hand, instinctively holding her breath.

The second her skin came in contact with his Elena felt a surge of power run through her veins; there was a sudden sense of familiarity with the old man in front of her. She couldn’t help but smile at him.

Dumbledore returned her smile. “Hello again, Elena. I am glad to finally meet you,” he said solemnly, his brilliant blue eyes shining behind his glasses. “I have been awaiting this day for a very long time.”

Somehow his words made sense to her; she had the strange feeling that her life’s path had inevitably led her here, to this moment, to shake the hand of Albus Dumbledore. _Weird_ , she thought, _why do I feel like I know him?_

The old man’s smile deepened, emphasizing the vast number of wrinkles around his eyes. “There is nothing weird about your feelings, Elena,” he stated softly. “You feel like you know me because part of you already does and always has.”

She blinked in confusion. “Wait, are you reading my thoughts?” Enraged she tried to wrest her hand from his grip, but he proved to be stronger than he looked.

“Please forgive my indiscretion; I was merely trying to get a sense of who you are.” His voice was sober, but his eyes were twinkling with merriment.

“You and I were meant to meet years ago, Elena.” His amusement was replaced by sobriety; slowly he let go of her hand. “It is most unfortunate that we lost all this time because your mother felt the need to hide you from me.”

A sharp gasp behind her reminded Elena of her cousin’s presence in the room. In an instant she was snatched by strong hands and pulled away from Dumbledore. Before she could even blink Gideon had put himself between her and the old man; his posture was revealing tension and utmost vigilance. Startled, she frowned. _How did he move that fast?_

“There is no need for you to get so protective, Gideon,” Dumbledore said amiably. “Your cousin has nothing to fear from me.”

She took a step to the side to try and look at him around Gideon’s broad frame, but he mimicked her movement, effectively shielding her from view.

“If that’s true, why would my aunt feel the need to leave the country in order to hide Elena from you?” His voice sounded strained and he didn’t abandon his defensive stance. “I demand an explanation, Professor!”

“Certainly, Gideon.” Dumbledore still seemed calm and collected. “Maybe we should all have a seat to discuss this in a composed manner?”

Her cousin didn’t move an inch.

Dumbledore sighed, before taking a seat in one of the imposing leather armchairs. “At least allow me to sit down, I’m an old man and I am afraid my explanation is rather long-winded and complex.”

“Gideon.” Hesitantly Elena raised a hand to touch his arm. “This is silly; he won’t hurt me.” She wasn’t entirely sure why she was so certain of that. Somehow she just _knew_.

Gideon snorted. “You don’t have the slightest clue what he is capable of, Elena. I thought we could trust him, but apparently I was wrong. You heard what he said, your mother did everything she could to hide you from him. I’m sure she had her reasons for that.”

Elena was starting to get frustrated with his behaviour. She knew he meant well, but at the moment his attitude wasn’t helping.

“You told me that I depend on his help, remember?” She reminded him, trying to be reasonable. “So let’s just listen to what he has to say, okay?”

She stepped around her cousin and took a seat across from Dumbledore, sending the old man an apologetic smile that he returned kindly.

After a moment Gideon sat down next to her, the tension of his body betraying that he was ill at ease. “I’m listening,” he said rather contemptuously.

“Wonderful!” Dumbledore gave him a bright smile. “I have always found that it is much more pleasant to talk over a drink, wouldn’t you agree?”

Her cousin’s dark expression clearly showed what he thought of Dumbledore’s suggestion, but his well breeding prevailed. “Of course,” he offered sourly, “I’ll have my house-elf bring us some tea.”

“Oh, no need to bother your servant,” Dumbledore said cheerfully, producing a wand from his robes. “Besides, I think we could do with something a little stronger than tea.”

As Dumbledore drew his wand Gideon jumped out of his seat, resuming his defensive stance. The old man ignored him deliberately and flicked his wand. A dusty bottle and three glasses appeared in midair. The bottle tipped and poured a generous amount of honey-coloured liquid into the glasses, which then floated to each of them.

“Madam Rosmerta’s finest oak-matured mead,” said Dumbledore and raised his glass to Elena.

She caught hold of her glass and sipped cautiously, despite her cousin’s uttered warning. She found that it didn’t taste half bad. _Definitely better than firewhiskey_ , she judged, taking another sip.

Eventually Gideon retook his seat; he snatched his glass out of the air and put it down on the coffee table with a little more force than necessary. “I’m still waiting for your explanation,” he demanded blatantly.

Dumbledore gave him an indulgent smile and took a long sip of his drink, closing his eyes with relish. Then he put the glass down and turned to Elena. “Tell me, how much do you know about your gift?”

“Only what Gideon told me...” She glanced at her cousin, looking for help. He had his arms crossed in front of his chest, eying Dumbledore impatiently.

She returned her gaze to the old man. “He said that I was stronger than the average bender and that I could control different elements...” she trailed off, not sure what more to say.

Dumbledore nodded slowly. “That is correct. In fact you have the power to control all four elements.”

Gideon gasped. “It’s true then...,” he said, sounding incredulous. “But _how_ is it possible?”

“To explain that we have to look to the past, to a time we have no written records of,” Dumbledore began in a lecturing tone. “All we know about our ancestors who lived during that age is derived from myths and lore.”

“I’m not interested in fairy tales!” Gideon cut in rudely. “All I want is the truth, so I suggest that you come to the point!”

Dumbledore seemed unperturbed. “At the heart of every legend there is a grain of truth,” he stated wisely. “You asked me to elucidate your cousin’s unique gift, and to properly do so I have to start at the beginning.”

Gideon huffed, but said nothing else.

“Very well,” said Dumbledore and returned his attention towards Elena. “Since you attended school at Ilvermorny, I assume you don’t have any deeper knowledge of Britannia’s ancient history?”

She shook her head. “No. We learned about Vol-... I mean You-Know-Who and about Grindelwald, of course, but that’s about it.”

“I see,” Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. “So I furthermore presume that you never heard about the existence of element benders until you came here?”   

Once again she shook her head, feeling rather stupid.

“Well,” Dumbledore said, “you have to know that elemental magic or _wandless magic_ as it is called by some was never an entity of the ancient wizards of Britannia; it was practiced all across the globe - with certain cultural differences.”

He paused to take a sip of his drink before continuing. “Before the invention of the wand it was the only possible form to practice magic, so we find traces in every ancient civilization: ancient Egypt, Greece, Rome and China, to name only a few, but of course also the indigenous cultures of America practiced elemental magic.” At this he gave her a questioning look.

Elena nodded, recalling some of her ‘History of Magic’ lessons. “The native Americans mostly practiced animal and plant magic, didn’t they?”

“Exactly,” Dumbledore affirmed. “Sadly most of that tradition was lost when the wand was launched in America. It made the magic easier to channel and control and therefore provided more people access to the use of magic. But I am getting off topic here.” He winked at Gideon, who simply snorted.

“In Britannia wizards and witches never forgot about the elemental magic their ancestors had practiced since the beginning of time,” Dumbledore went on. “Long before the first wand was crafted, long before the magical community separated from the Muggle society. During those times benders were held in great esteem; with their abilities they were valuable assets for any tribe or village.”

He gestured towards Gideon. “Take an earthbender for example: very useful in construction and mining.” Her cousin grimaced in disgust.

Dumbledore smiled amused and continued. “Waterbenders were helpful with farming and fishing, while airbenders offered protection against storms and bad weather. Firebenders often worked as smiths, though their talents were also useful at war. Whenever a child was born with the talent to control an element it was considered a blessing, a gift from the goddess.”

“The goddess?” Elena asked in confusion. “Weren’t the people of Britannia Christians?”

“Before Christianity became prevalent people followed the Old Religion,” Dumbledore explained, “a Pagan religion worshiping a Mother Goddess; its centre was the mystical island of Avalon. It was a peaceful religion in principle; the priestesses of the Goddess were an order of female benders who used their powers to protect the peace and keep the world in balance.”

Elena frowned at that. “I thought Morgan le Fay was the ruler of Avalon at some point,” she said, picturing the Chocolate Frog Card of the famous witch in her mind. “Wasn’t she a Dark witch?”

Dumbledore nodded approvingly. “That is correct. Morgan was the last in a long line of High Priestesses and under her reign the demise of the Old Religion took its course.”

Gideon audibly cleared his throat. “This is all very... _fascinating_.” His voice was dripping with sarcasm. “Yet I still don’t see the point.”

“Patience, Gideon; patience,” reprimanded Dumbledore him good-naturedly.

Her cousin scowled and grabbed his glass to take a long drink.

Dumbledore smiled at his antics and proceeded with the story. “As I was saying, benders were highly esteemed at that time. Unfortunately the peace did not last.”

He paused for a moment and turned his glass in his healthy hand, staring absently at the swirling liquid. Then he raised his eyes to look at her.

“You have to know that the gift is hereditary; it is passed on from parent to child, like magic itself. Sometimes a generation is skipped, but eventually the gift will show again. Over time people observed certain patterns: Children of a bender and a non-bender had a fifty-fifty chance to be born with the gift, while children of two benders of the same element were usually stronger than their parents. Yet when the parents were benders of different elements, the elements cancelled each other and the child was born a non-bender. And there we have the root of the problem. Do you realise what it is?” He regarded her expectantly.

Elena pondered his question for a while. “You can go and try to... _breed_ stronger benders?” She grimaced at the thought.

Dumbledore nodded. “Yes. That is exactly what people tried to do, once they had figured out the rules of heredity. Benders married benders of the same element, and within a few generations there were large clans consisting of benders only. Before long the first clan conflicts flared up; earthbenders feuded with airbenders, waterbenders feuded with earthbenders and the firebenders waged war against everyone.”

Once again Gideon snorted. “Firebenders. They simply don’t know better.”

Dumbledore sighed. “As you can see some of those old conflicts are smouldering to the present day.” He took another sip of his drink.

“Back then the whole country was on the brink of disaster. You see, elemental magic is a blessing as long as it is used to create and preserve, but unleashed to attack and destroy it becomes a tremendous hazard. Therefore people prayed to the Goddess for help and the priestesses of Avalon, who regarded the preservation of peace as their sacred duty, decided to act. They reckoned the only way to make peace between the different elements was to establish a strong leader, a bender who combined all four elements, so that benders of all elements could unite around him.”

He paused for effect, looking from Elena to Gideon, who finally seemed to be paying undivided attention.  

“They chose a young earthbender whom they deemed worthy of the responsible task, and in a ritual as marvellous as it was abominable they bestowed upon him the power to bend the other three elements. Fully aware about the risk of vesting all that power in a single person, the priestesses placed the young man under the control of potent curses and charms, as well as they made him swear an oath that he would only use his powers for the greater good. And thus the Merlin was created.”  

At that Gideon gave a slight cough. “Excuse me, Professor, but it is well known that Merlin went to Hogwarts. Every student in my former house can tell you all about how he was taught by the great Salazar Slytherin himself,” he said smugly. “Besides, he was part of the court of King Arthur, wasn’t he? The clan wars you were talking about must have taken place centuries before Hogwarts was even founded, if I remember correctly. It seems to me your story contains some inconsistencies there, Professor.”

“A sceptical mind is a valuable asset, Gideon.” Dumbledore regarded her cousin over the rim of his spectacles. “However, if you insist on historical accuracy I have to point out in turn that the reign of famous King Arthur predates the foundation of Hogwarts by several centuries. So tell me, how could Merlin live to serve King Arthur, yet also go to school at Hogwarts centuries later?”

Looking rather unimpressed Gideon shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe there were two different wizards who coincidentally shared the same name.”     

“In my experience there is no such thing as coincidence,” declared Dumbledore mildly. “You have a point, though. Nevertheless, ‘ _Merlin’_ is not a name but a title, the designation of the sacred ministry these two wizards shared. Over the centuries their real names faded into obscurity and people started referring to them by their function. Eventually folk memory melted these two fabled historical figures into one person: the mystical wizard Merlin who even has his own Chocolate Frog Card.” Dumbledore chuckled amused.

“I still don’t see what any of this has to do with Elena,” Gideon interjected. “There’s no _Merlin_ nowadays, Avalon and the Old Religion are ancient history, long gone and forgotten!”

“Avalon might have been swallowed by the mists; the priestesses of the Old Religion might be long dead, yet their magic still persists.” Dumbledore looked at her again, his expression serious.

“When they created the Merlin, the priestesses thought it unwise to make him immortal, but they also sought to avoid the need for ever repeating the ritual, because they had to pay a high price for the creation of their _saviour_. So they came up with a solution as elegant as it was simple: Every few decades a child with the ability to master the four elements would arise, born to benders of each element in turn. The Merlin would identify said child and instruct it and when it was time for him to die, his student would take over and become the next Merlin in line.”

Shell-shocked Elena gaped at him. She dreaded what he would say next, it was the only logical conclusion. _I’m meant to be the next Merlin!_ The thought was absurd, horrific, but deep down she felt that it was the truth.

Next to her Gideon gave a laugh, short and humourless. “That’s the moral of your story? My cousin is supposed to be some kind of... _mystical peace keeper_? That’s the most ridiculous bunch of bollocks I ever heard! Merlin’s beard!”

Upon realising what he had just said he groaned and reached for his glass, only to notice that it was empty. Swearing under his breath he got up and walked over to a cabinet, which contained an impressive collection of bottles. He poured himself a large glass of a smoking liquid that he downed in one swig, expertly blowing out a small puff of smoke.

_Firewhiskey_ , Elena thought dimly, _he’s definitely better at drinking it than I am._

Her cousin refilled his glass and retook his seat. Then he fixated Dumbledore with a piercing glare. “For the last time, Professor, tell me the truth!”    

Dumbledore looked somewhat sad. “I’m afraid I have been telling you nothing but the truth,” he said quietly.

With a movement too quick for her eyes Gideon pounded his fist on the coffee table, making her jump in her seat. “I don’t believe you!” he declared hotly. “There’s no such thing as a _Merlin_! If there was, why are we in the middle of a war right now?” His voice was rising with his temper. “The Dark Lord is on the rise again, so where is that powerful peace keeper you are talking about? If he truly exists, he’s doing a rather shitty job, if you ask me!”

“So it would seem.” Ruefully smiling, Dumbledore considered him. “Yet I can assure you that he is doing everything in his power to protect this country and the people living in it.”

Slowly realisation dawned upon her. _It’s so obvious, once you know the truth_ , she mused. She fixed her eyes upon the old man, waiting until he met her gaze.

“It’s you,” she stated; she was sure beyond doubt. “You are the Merlin.”

He gave her small nod, regarding her intently. “I was already starting to fear that I might be the last one, but now that I met you I am very relieved to know that is not the case.”

At his words she felt a shudder of fear. “But why me? I can’t bend the elements; I don’t even have the slightest idea about this... _control thing_... There is nothing special about me, apart from the talent to get myself into trouble!”

Dumbledore smiled at that, leaning towards her. “It’s your destiny, Elena. You will grow into your talents, trust me. You were born for this.”

She wasn’t reassured by his words, instead she felt trapped. “I never asked for any of this! What if I don’t want to be a... _saviour?”_ Her voice was betraying her panic.

Reassuringly her cousin put a hand on her arm. “Nobody is going to force you to do anything, Elena.” He glared at Dumbledore defiantly. “This is why my aunt left the country, isn’t it? You told her your... _preposterous story..._ so she grabbed Elena and ran.”

Dumbledore sighed heavily. “Not exactly. Catherine knew Elena was special and that I was interested in her powers, but she never learned the deeper truth behind it.”

His gaze focused firmly on her. “You have to know I had a student before, a very talented young man who unfortunately chose the wrong path. After I lost him I never dreamed I would get the opportunity to teach another, so when I learned your birth was imminent I got a tad overprotective, I have to admit to my shame. I might have scared your mother a little.” He gave her a rueful smile.

Gideon snorted. “Scared her a little? She must have been terrified to leave behind her whole life, to disappear without a trace, just to hide from you!” His tone was rude and accusing.

Dumbledore regarded him leniently for a moment. “I see, that was shortly after your father died, was it not? How old were you then, five years? You must have felt so abandoned...”

Her cousin clenched his fists. “This has nothing to do with me!”

Elena saw that his face had become wax-pale, his expression terrifying to look at. Suddenly he jumped to his feet.  

“Let’s get one thing straight: Just because my aunt is dead now that doesn’t mean you can force my cousin to follow you on your bloody crusade! I won’t allow it!” He was yelling now. “I invited you here because I seriously believed you would help us! But it seems all you have to offer are fables and lies, so I kindly ask you to leave my house!”

Startled by his outburst she had frozen in her chair. _He can’t send him away, I need his help!_ she thought frantically, her panic threatening to overwhelm her.

Dumbledore remained seated; he still appeared remarkably calm and collected. “Let’s be reasonable, Gideon,” he said quietly. “Your cousin needs my help to learn control, you know that.”

He moved his gaze to her. “Listen to me, Elena: I don’t plan on forcing you to do anything. I am offering you my help to learn how to control your powers, whatever you decide to do with them is up to you, and you alone.”

He send a meaningful glace towards Gideon, before returning his eyes to her, holding her gaze intently. “Let me just say this: Nobody can choose his destiny and we can’t run from fate, no matter how hard we try.”   

 


	20. Of Fate and Family

The situation was getting more frustrating by the second. Dumbledore showed not even the slightest inclination to get up and leave; he appeared utterly unperturbed by the harsh words Gideon had just thrown at him.

He glared at the old man, unsure how to get out of this. _It’s not like I can force him to go_ , he thought irately. There was no doubt that Dumbledore could swat him like a fly, if he decided to do so. Not that he gave the impression of being particularly alert at the moment, and besides, open aggression wasn’t his style. Yet Gideon wasn’t ready to relax quite now. _Who can say what’s going on in his mind?_

A uniquely brilliant mind he had been in awe of until today. _Seems like his age is starting to show_ , he mused. The old man had told his insane story with firm belief and Elena certainly seemed to have bought every word. Gideon wanted to shake some sense into her. _How naïve must she be to believe this rubbish?_

There was no way Dumbledore had told the truth, the whole thing must have been a ruse; a desperate ploy to recruit a young, powerful bender for his crusade against the Dark Lord. _That’s all Elena is to him: a new and interesting piece on the board,_ _a valuable asset in the war to come_ , Gideon concluded. _I’m not going to let him use her!_

That much he owed his aunt. He was finally starting to see the whole reason why Catherine had felt the need to leave the country. _She wasn’t running from the Death Eaters; she wanted to protect her daughter from a crazy old man_. He was sure of it. _That’s why she stayed in hiding all those years and came back only when she had no other choice._

And now he was facing the same dilemma. Unfortunately Dumbledore was right; they needed his help to teach Elena control, there was no real alternative. _Well, we could always ask the Dark Lord…_

He grimaced at his own sarcasm. _Bloody hell! How am I supposed to keep my promise to protect Elena?_ Yet again he regretted ever giving his word to Catherine in the first place; so far his little cousin had proven to be nothing but trouble. _Better if she had never been born…_

As soon as he had thought it he felt ashamed of himself. It wasn’t like it was Elena’s fault that she had the gift. Dumbledore’s words rang in his ears: _Nobody can choose his fate…_

Frowning he looked at his cousin. She seemed terribly frightened; her hands clutching the armrests of the chair so hard that her knuckles were white and her wide-eyed gaze jumping back and forth between Dumbledore and himself.

Gideon felt a stab of pity. He couldn’t begin to imagine what it must be like for her; she had just watched her mother being murdered right in front of her and now she was tossed into a whole new world without knowing the rules. He sighed inwardly. _Okay, time to be reasonable._

Slowly he sat back down. Dumbledore was still regarding him indulgently, like he was some brattish child acting up. With some effort Gideon swallowed his anger and pride and put on a straight face.

“Please accept my apology, Professor,” he began his effort to soothe the waters. “What I said was… _unfortunate_. Your story… it’s a lot to take in.” He cleared his throat before continuing. “However, my cousin needs your assistance and so I ask you once again: Please, help her.”

Dumbledore regarded him intently for a moment. Then he nodded. “My help is yours.” He smiled brightly at Elena. “There are still a few weeks until the beginning of the new term, that should be enough time for you to learn control before school starts.”

He focused on Gideon again. “As I told you before, secrecy is of utmost importance. I assume that I don’t have to tell you that there are other people who would take great interest in your cousin, should they learn about her powers.”

Gideon frowned. “I’m well aware, Professor.”   

Dumbledore gave him a pointed look. “Tom Riddle isn’t the only one I was referring to, Gideon. There are certain members of your family who would only too happily exploit Elena’s talents for their own good.”

Gideon gritted his teeth. _And you wouldn’t?_ Thankfully he managed to keep his mouth firmly shut.

The old man sighed. “I asked for your silence before, and I have to do it again.”

“I already gave you my word, what more do you want?” Gideon couldn’t refrain from sounding as irritated as he was feeling.

Dumbledore met his angry glare with another one of his annoying smiles. “I need you to swear an Unbreakable Vow this time, Gideon. After everything I told you about Elena and myself that is necessary, I’m afraid.”

He tensed involuntarily. _An Unbreakable Vow? Definitely not!_ It wasn’t like anyone would believe him if he repeated Dumbledore’s harebrained story. What he certainly wasn’t planning on doing anytime soon. People would think he had finally gone mad if he did.

Gideon cleared his throat, carefully trying to keep his demeanour blasé. “And if I refuse?”

Dumbledore regarded him over the rim of his spectacles. “Then you would leave me no choice but to erase the memory of this conversation from your mind,” he said softly.

Next to him Elena gasped. Gideon stared fixedly at the old man, trying to consider his options. He didn’t doubt Dumbledore would carry out his threat, and he also knew that he didn’t have the power to stop him if the Professor decided to do so. Unfortunately Dumbledore had the upper hand in this; Gideon desperately depended on his help, so the old man could ask basically anything from him in return.

He sighed in defeat. “I’ll do it.”

“Very well,” said Dumbledore. “Elena, we are going to need your assistance to seal the vow. I assume you own a wand?”

“Y-yes.” For the first time in a long while his cousin spoke, her voice low and hushed. “But Professor, I’m underage, so I’m not allowed to use magic outside of school, am I?” she asked shyly.

Dumbledore bestowed an encouraging smile upon her. “You will find that we deal a tad less strictly with underage magic here in Britannia. Students don’t have to leave their wands at school during vacations and if they should be tempted to perform a little magic while at home the Ministry usually turns a blind eye to that, as long as they do it in presence of an adult.” He winked at Elena.

“However, I am almost certain that the de Villiers family has taken precautions to prevent the tracking of any kind of magic in this house, haven’t they?” The professor’s gaze returned to him.    

 _Of course they have,_ Gideon thought, but didn’t comment on that. He offered Dumbledore his right hand, having to stifle a surge of disgust as he had to touch the dead-looking flesh of the old man’s wand hand.

“Okay Elena, you will have to step a little closer to us,” Dumbledore instructed. “Now place the tip of your wand on our linked hands.”

His cousin produced a delicate ebony wand from her sleeve, following the directions. As Dumbledore took Gideon’s oath, thin tongues of flame shot from the wand and wound their way around their clasped hands, symbol of the absolute nature of the spell.

When Dumbledore was finally satisfied he nodded to Elena, who took the wand away. The fiery rope glowed red-hot for a moment, before it slowly started to fade.

Relieved that it was over Gideon flexed his fingers a few times. He had never taken part in an Unbreakable Vow before; it was a lot more intense than he would have thought.

“Now, let us drink a toast to our agreement,” said Dumbledore cheerfully. He raised his glass to them.

Gideon didn’t really feel like celebrating, but he obediently took a sip of his firewhiskey.

Dumbledore emptied his glass and then snapped his fingers to make it disappear. “Very well,” he said. “I would propose we hold Elena’s control lessons here at your house, Gideon. She could also visit me at Hogwarts, but that would inevitably raise questions, don’t you agree?”

He didn’t really fancy the idea of Dumbledore coming to his house on a regular basis, but it was the safest option, so he nodded his approval. _It’s just for a couple of weeks_ , he said to himself. “Do you plan on starting today?”

“That is up to Elena.” Dumbledore smiled at his cousin.

She shrugged her shoulders. “Sure. The sooner the better, right?” She gave a nervous laugh.

“All right.” Dumbledore gave her an encouraging look. “You see, in order for me to teach you control you have to allow me access to your mind.”

“What?” Elena’s voice cracked; her panic was evident in her expression.

Gideon felt sorry for her, recalling his own control lessons. It hadn’t been a pleasant experience, not in the slightest. _There is no other way_ , he reminded himself. _If she wants to survive, she’ll have to suffer through it._

Suddenly a tapping sound from the nearest window startled all of them. It came from a majestic eagle owl that he recognized immediately. With an uneasy feeling Gideon got up and went to let the bird in. It hooted reproachfully and dropped a vibrant red envelope at his feet.   

 _Bloody Hell!_ He cursed inwardly and picked it up. It was addressed to him in an elegant hand that he knew only too well. _Well, no point in trying to delay it._ He took a deep breath and opened the letter.

“COME HERE THIS INSTANT!” The roar of sound echoed deafeningly through the room. After it had delivered its message the howler burst into flames and curled to ashes. With his ears still ringing Gideon turned around to face the others; his cousin was staring at him in shock, while Dumbledore appeared to be mildly amused.

“ _Who was that_?” Elena asked, clearly frightened.

Gideon gave her a rueful smile. “ _That_ was our dear old grandfather.” He had a vague idea why he was summoned by the Duke. _He must have learned about Catherine..._    

“That certainly sounded quite urgent,” said Dumbledore blithely. “Maybe you should go and see what he needs you for?”

He had the sneaking suspicion that the old man was rather enjoying himself. Gideon didn’t like the idea to leave Elena alone with him, but it also wasn’t advisable to keep his grandfather waiting. If the Duke got impatient he might decide to come over here, and if he found out that Dumbledore was a guest at Gideon’s house... He shuddered involuntarily. _No, I have to go and see what he wants._

Gideon turned to his cousin. “Are you okay here on your own?”

She nodded hesitantly.

He shot a quick glance at Dumbledore, who was still smiling. With some effort he refrained from clenching his fists. How he wished to knock that infuriating smile right of the old man’s face! But now was not the time to give in to his more violent impulses.

Gideon focused on Elena again. “I promise I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

His cousin seemed to have regained her composure. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine,” she said and gave Dumbledore a trusting smile.

 _She is far too comfortable in his company_ , Gideon found. He would have to talk some sense into her. _Later_ , he decided. Right now he had other things to worry about.

He fixed Dumbledore with a stern stare. “I entrust you with my cousin, Professor. Don’t make me regret it.”

The old man nodded at him. “She is safe with me, Gideon.”

Somewhat reassured Gideon turned and walked over to the fireplace, taking a handful of floo powder. Sighing resignedly, he stepped into the flames, trying to clear his head for the confrontation ahead.  “Royceston Manor!” He was engulfed by roaring green fire.

 

* * *

 

As he stepped out of the fireplace, Gideon bumped right into his brother.

“There you are,” Henry said snidely. “I was just about to go and drag you here. You’re in deep shit, little brother.” His expression clearly betrayed that he was only too happy about that.

Gideon glared at him. Henry certainly seemed to be in high spirits today. _What’s the reason for your good mood, brother?_ he mused darkly. _Was the Dark Lord grateful for your service? Did he reward you for betraying your family?_ Involuntarily he clenched his fists, his anger getting the better of him.

“Why so tense? Guilty conscience?” Henry sneered.

 _Not as guilty as yours, I’d wager_ , Gideon thought furiously, but then he forced himself to relax his hands. As much as he wanted to beat Henry to pulp, no good would come from attacking his older brother.

 _You have to find prove first_ , he recalled. Once he had hard evidence, he could unleash his full wrath on his brother. _Don’t feel too safe Henry, I’m onto you_ , he thought and gave him a withering look.

“You better come with me quickly, Grandfather is quite angry with you,” Henry informed him disdainfully. “It would be foolish to let him wait any longer.”   

With a last disgusted look at his brother Gideon turned away and made his way to his grandfather’s study, Henry following hard on his heels.

 

* * *

 

He found the Duke in deep conversation with his aunt Evaine. When he entered the room, both looked up and eyed him suspiciously, displaying almost identical frowns on their faces.

“I brought Gideon, like you asked me,” Henry stated after closing the door behind him. He walked around his grandfather’s desk and leaned against a windowsill, casually crossing his arms in front of his chest.

Gideon shot him a dark look. “I came here of my own accord,” he clarified. “May I ask what the matter is?” Carefully he assumed an air of indifference, taking one of the seats in front of the desk.

“As if you don’t know!” His grandfather gave him a withering glare, before he condescended to elaborate. “Earlier today the auror Robards paid me a visit. He claimed to have important information that he had tried to pass on to you, but apparently you weren’t available during the whole weekend… Care to explain?”

Gideon suppressed a groan. _Bloody Robards!_ He cursed inwardly. _Damn that fool!_ Of course he had known it would come to this, sooner or later. When the Death Eaters had fled after his aunt’s death, they had taken the time to let the Dark Mark rise over the house, which had inevitably brought some aurors to the scene. Misty had said she found them poking about the ruins…

Robards must have wanted to inform him about their findings; it made sense, he was the Ministry’s official contact to his family after all. _And he couldn’t reach me because I spent the weekend drinking and sleeping it off._ Gideon almost smirked. _Well, it’s not like I can tell Grandfather that…_

He cleared his throat, carefully keeping his expression innocent. “I was swamped with work, so I ordered my house-elf to turn away any visitors. Unfortunately Lookey must have taken my directions far too literally… My bad!” He raised his hands in a gesture of apology.  

His aunt arched a perfect brow. “You let your house-elf send away Ministry officials?” she asked, sounding quite disbelieving.

Gideon gave her a rueful smile. “A deplorable mistake. I’ll talk to him, it won’t happen again.” In his mind he apologized to Lookey.

His grandfather’s expression was unreadable; he had no idea whether he had managed to convince him. Trying hard to appear casual Gideon focused his attention on him. “So, what did Robards want, anyway?”

Richard de Villiers regarded him searchingly for a moment, while Gideon tried his best to prepare himself mentally. _I must not show I knew about this all along, better if they never know I was there during the attack._ There was a traitor in his family after all, and Gideon intended to live long enough to find out exactly who that was.

“Apparently there has been an attack on our London townhouse,” said the Duke, his gaze carefully monitoring Gideon’s reaction. “On Saturday morning an auror squad was called there after the Dark Mark had been sighted.”

“The Dark Mark?” Gideon asked, feigning surprise.

His grandfather narrowed his eyes at him. “When the aurors arrived they found the house in ruins.”

“In ruins?” Gideon raised his brows. “Why would the Death Eaters destroy one of our houses?”

The Duke remained impassive. “According to Robards a fight has taken place there. He said they found residues of elemental magic on the rubble.”

Gideon opened his eyes wide, aiming for a shocked expression. “But how did they get in?” he asked, carefully avoiding to look at Henry. “And what did they want?” he added for good measure.

His grandfather frowned. “So far we are not sure how they gained admittance to the house. What we know is who they were after.”

Involuntarily Gideon held his breath. _This is it_ , he thought, _the moment of truth._

“Tell him,” Henry piped up all of the sudden.

His gaze was inevitably drawn to his brother. There was a sadistic gleam in his eye; Henry was enjoying this. More than ever Gideon was convinced that he was the traitor.

But he had a role to play. He looked back to his grandfather to regard him questioningly. “Tell me what?”

The Duke’s expression was completely indifferent. “Catherine is dead.”

Gideon narrowed his eyes, feigning confusion. “Your _daughter_ Catherine?” He stressed the word _daughter_ a little more than necessary. “She has been dead for years now, hasn’t she?” There was just the right amount of disbelieving wonder in his voice.

His grandfather’s face could have been made from stone, judging by the lack emotion it displayed.

“Seems like she wasn’t dead after all,” Henry offered only too eagerly. “Though it’s safe to say that she is now; the aurors found her body in the ruins.”

A stab of pain went through him like a knife, just as his brother had intended. Yet with some effort he managed to keep his mask of indifference firmly in place. “Really? That’s… _tragic_.” His voice betrayed no emotion at all; he was rather proud of his performance so far.

“Yes, my sister always had an unfortunate proclivity for tragedy,” his aunt spoke up, frowning in annoyance. “She enjoyed nothing more than taking us by surprise.” There was more than just a hint of reproach in her tone. “And now she managed to humiliate us even in death!”

It was hard to refrain from gritting his teeth in anger, but somehow Gideon kept his voice even. “Humiliate us? How so?”

Evaine snorted in indignation, quite unlike herself. “The press will be all over this,” she said disdainfully. “And we have your mother’s benefit event for _St Mungo’s_ coming up… There’s nothing like a scandal to keep people from opening their purses.”

It was obvious that the expected loss of income ranked way higher on her priority list than the brutal murder of her own sister.

“At least now she can’t damage our reputation anymore,” Henry stated casually.

When Gideon turned his gaze to him, he realized that his brother was watching him disparagingly. There was a trace of disappointment in his demeanour. Henry had clearly expected more of a reaction from him upon the revelation that his beloved aunt had been murdered.

He felt a sense of grim satisfaction. _I won’t do him that favour!_ Gideon focused his attention back on his grandfather, who appeared to be lost in thought.

“How do we react to this?” he asked him. “A member of our family has been murdered by Death Eaters! Do you still want to watch and wait?” The question came out a tad more accusing than he had intended.

The Duke didn’t seem to have heard him, but it turned out that Evaine had quite a few things to say to that topic.

“A member of our family?” she spat venomously. “Catherine turned her back on us; she brought shame to our name! Surrounding herself with Mudbloods and Bloodtraitors, having that bastard! She deserved what she got!”

Used to his aunt’s usually reserved and collected behaviour Gideon was more than a little shocked by her outburst. He had known that Evaine despised her sister, but her crude words betrayed nothing but pure hatred for her older sibling. _Maybe I should add her to my list of suspects,_ he pondered.

Henry nodded his approval. “She should have stayed in whatever hole she has been hiding in all this time,” he drawled. “It was simply stupid to show her face now.”

Suddenly Richard de Villiers awoke from his lethargy, pounding his fist on the desk. “Enough!” he yelled, causing all of them to jump a little.

“You and you,” he pointed to Evaine and Henry, “leave the room! I need to speak to Gideon.”

After overcoming her initial surprise his aunt glared at the Duke. “Father,” she said indignantly, “I demand that…”

“Out!” spat his grandfather. “Now!”

In a huff Evaine got up and stormed from the room. Henry abandoned his position at the window and strolled after her lazily, not missing the opportunity to shoot him a dirty look on his way out.

Not quite sure what he was in for, Gideon waited nervously until the door had closed behind his brother. Then he addressed the Duke curiously. “What do you want to talk about?”

His grandfather scrutinized him with a piercing look. “Catherine…,” he said finally, “did she contact you?”

Gideon felt himself tense; carefully he controlled his expression. “Until recently I thought she was dead,” he stated cautiously. Technically that wasn’t a lie.

Quickly he pondered how much of the truth he could share without getting into trouble. _Better if he doesn’t know I was there during the attack_ , he thought. Otherwise he would come too close to revealing the truth about Elena, and that was a secret he wasn’t able to disclose, Dumbledore had seen to that.

Deliberately casual he shrugged his shoulders. “Why would she contact me anyway? If she wanted something, why not turn to you?”

His grandfather narrowed his eyes at him. “You can drop the act now, Gideon.” His tone was almost friendly. “I can tell you are far more affected by Catherine’s death than you are trying to show.” The Duke’s expression softened. “Don’t you think I know how close you were before she left, how much you suffered when she disappeared? Do you think I’m stupid?”

Gideon couldn’t help but gape at him in stunned surprise. Whatever he had expected, this certainly wasn’t it. Was that pity in his grandfather’s tone, was that hurt and loss in his eyes when he spoke about Catherine? He had never thought the Duke capable of such human emotion.

 _Maybe it’s a trick to get me to talk?_ Somehow he didn’t think it was. He felt like he had about enough unexpected revelations for one day, any more and his head would explode.

Gideon cleared his throat, trying hard to keep his expression blank. “She didn’t contact me.” Again, not really a lie. His run-in with his aunt at the cemetery had been a coincidence after all.

His grandfather sighed deeply and leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes for a second. Then he straightened his shoulders and resumed his usual air of aloofness. “I had hoped you could shed some light on why she decided to return, and why _now_ of all times,” he explained.

Half-relieved that he was back to his normal, unemotional self, Gideon shrugged. “Maybe she wanted to continue her fight against the Dark Lord?”

“Maybe,” said the Duke thoughtfully. “Perhaps we will never know for sure.” He looked as if he was about to say more, but Gideon cut in quickly, seizing an opportunity.

“I can’t wrap my head around the fact that the Death Eaters even managed to enter the house. It was protected by blood wards, wasn’t it?”

He thought he had seen a flash of something in his grandfather’s expression, but in the blink of an eye it was gone.

“It was,” said the Duke.

“Someone let them in,” Gideon stated the obvious.

“Yes.” That was all his grandfather had to say to that.

For a moment they sat in silence, both pondering the disturbing fact that there was a traitor in the family.

Eventually Gideon spoke up. “So what do we do now?”

The Duke raised his eyes to meet his questioning gaze. “We wait.”

Gideon frowned. “What for? That they murder more of our family members?” He couldn’t refrain from sounding bitter. _Why did I expect anything else from him?_

His grandfather sighed. “Actually I am waiting for some kind of ultimatum or a ransom demand.”

He felt his eyebrows shoot up at their own accord. Yet another thing he hadn’t expected. “Ransom? For whom?”

“Do you remember your aunt’s daughter?” the Duke asked. “If Catherine came back for good she must have brought the girl with her. But the aurors found no trace of her, so...” He trailed off.

“You think the Death Eaters took her?” Gideon asked incredulously. _It’s almost as if he cares_ , he mused. _Well, maybe he’s just concerned about the money._ That seemed more likely.

“However, we should have heard something by now,” said the Duke, looking almost worried. “Maybe she was taken for questioning, maybe the girl knew something...”

“You’re worried!” Gideon cut in bluntly, amazed by the realization.

The Duke frowned at him. “Of course I am worried. Whatever escapade of her mother may have led to her birth, that girl is still my granddaughter. I don’t want her in the hands of Death Eaters.” His expression left no room for interpretation.

Once again Richard de Villiers had managed to surprise him today. Gideon shook his head, as if to rid himself of all the thoughts that were buzzing in his mind. Then he cleared his throat.

“Well, in that case let me assure you that Elena is perfectly safe,” he said slowly, carefully monitoring his grandfather’s reaction. “She’s at my house.”

For the first time in his life Gideon saw the Duke at a loss of words. Once more his usually well-guarded expression was lifted and several emotions flashed in quick succession over his features: relief, surprise and anger, until he settled for something the almost looked like reluctant respect.

“You are a far better liar than I gave you credit for,” his grandfather said finally. “Perhaps you have some talent at the game of power after all.”

Gideon gulped. Coming from Richard de Villiers that was about the greatest compliment one could receive.

But then the Duke pounded his fist on the table and gave him his patented piercing glare. “If you ever lie to me again you will come to regret it!”

He smirked inwardly. _No promises there_ , he thought, before shrugging his shoulders. “I wasn’t exactly lying before,” he stated innocently. “Catherine sent her house-elf to bring the girl to me, with the request to protect her.” That wasn’t exactly the truth, but close enough.

His grandfather narrowed his eyes. “And is that what you are planning on doing? Protect her?”

Gideon nodded. “Though I would assume she doesn’t need much protection now. With her mother gone she’s of no interest to the Death Eaters,” he said, casually telling his biggest lie yet. Then he had an idea.

“Maybe you should make her officially one of us,” he thought aloud. “Our name would offer her a protection no wards or shield charms can.”

The Duke frowned. “She is a bastard, Gideon. Why would I do that?”

“Because she’s your granddaughter, you said it yourself.” Gideon gave him a pointed look. “And because I ask you.”

His grandfather’s expression was unreadable; the silence stretched the moment into eternity. Finally, when Gideon had already come to terms with the prospect of receiving a dry rebuff, he spoke up.

“Okay. I’ll do it.”

Once again he was taken by utmost surprise.

“Let me make one thing very clear to you,” the Duke declared sternly. “You will be personally responsible for her conduct. I won’t have the girl tarnish our name like her mother did.”

 _At least some things never change_ , Gideon thought dryly, feeling almost relieved.


	21. Moving On

As days slowly turned into weeks Elena started coming to terms with her new life. She still missed her mother terribly, feeling the void her death had left with every fibre of her being. But she was no longer paralysed by the loss and the pain was nothing but a constant reminder that she had survived.

She had settled into a relaxed routine. Usually she would sleep in, have breakfast in bed (Misty delighted in serving her ridiculous amounts of food) and then get ready for the day in her own time. Gideon had supplied her with clothes that were more to her liking, though he insisted that she didn’t dress ‘ _too_ _Muggle’_. Elena didn’t really mind, at least she had clothes that actually fit now.

By the time she left her room her cousin was normally gone for work already, so that she had the house to herself, not counting the house-elves. As she had learned there were five of the diligent creatures living here; Misty, who belonged to her now; Lookey, who was Gideon’s personal servant and some kind of chief of staff and three other elves she rarely got to see. Their job was to keep the vast country estate tidy and dust-free and apparently they took great pride in carrying out their duties unseen and unheard.

After a while Elena had learned to find her way around the house, though she would still get lost from time to time. She had the sneaking suspicion that some of the rooms liked to change places, while some of the doors had the bad habit of hiding themselves by posing as walls. There also was a staircase that led to the first floor in the morning and suddenly span all the way to the attic in the evening.

When she had asked her cousin about it, Gideon had just shrugged and explained that the house was so old that it was only natural for it to have developed some peculiarities. The idea of living in a house that had its own mind had been rather spooky at first, but with time Elena got used to it, as well as she got used to all the luxury surrounding her.

Her cousin’s house featured a parlour, a dining and a drawing room, a library (a rather small one, as Gideon had assured her when he had first given her a tour of the estate) and a poolroom. On the first floor were their bedrooms and her cousin’s study, as well as several other guestrooms, each with an adjoining bathroom.

The kitchens were located in the basement and strictly under house-elf control, as Elena had soon found out. One afternoon she had decided to busy herself with baking a cake, but that endeavour had ended in a mild disaster. It had been impossible to make the house-elves understand that she just wanted to bake _for fun_. In the end she had watched as the elves made her total of five cakes, which Gideon and her ended up eating for several days afterwards.

There was another floor beneath the kitchens, but her cousin had strictly forbidden her from going down there. When she had asked him why, he had just smirked and told her that it was haunted. It was the only area of the house that was off limits to her and she had often wondered why that was. She knew that Gideon went down there for his bender training, but he always took great care to seal the entrance, so she had no way to snoop around.

About twice a week Dumbledore visited to continue her control lessons. Elena had quickly realized that learning control was as challenging as it was straining. It had taken her some time to get used to another person’s presence in her mind, at first she had always panicked and kept on pushing Dumbledore out. The professor had assured her that this was not uncommon and furthermore a sign of her natural talent for Occlumency, the art of defending one’s mind against intruders.

Once she had overcome that problem she was faced with the next. As it turned out the whole control thing was rather blurry and vague, like she was trying to catch smoke with her bare hands. The lessons always left her drained and more often than not with a splitting headache. Yet Dumbledore seemed pleased with her progress, even though she didn’t feel like she making progress at all.

If she wasn’t having control lessons with Dumbledore she spent most of her time in the library, reading everything she could find about Britannia and her new family. When her cousin had told her that she was to be a _de Villiers_ her initial reaction had been shock, followed by anger. She had been _Elena Clarke_ all her life, why change that now? When Gideon had tried to explain to her that the name would protect her, she had laughed in his face. Her mother had been a de Villiers, but that hadn’t saved her form the Death Eaters.

Yet her cousin had insisted and after a while she had given in, mostly so that he would stop bothering her about it. It was only after she had signed the documents that he had disclosed the _little_ detail that the name came with a fair amount of the family fortune.

Elena had been livid; there was no way she would accept money from a family that had cast out her mother. But Gideon had simply shrugged off her objections, telling her that she couldn’t access the money until she came of age anyway and if she still didn’t want it then, she should give it to charity for all he cared.

Apart from his questionable attitude concerning money and property she found that she rather liked her cousin. Though he worked all day he made a point of spending some time with her in the evening. Usually they had dinner together; she would tell him about her meagre progress with her control lessons and her current reading, while he regaled her with anecdotes of his work and about family members she had yet to meet.

Gideon could be very funny and charming if he wanted and it had turned out that they shared the same dry sense of humour. He was also rather snobbish and sometimes a little arrogant, but she found she liked teasing him about it. Most of the time he put up with her banter good-naturedly, but if he was in a bad mood he displayed the temper of an angry dragon. In such a case it was better to give him some space until he had calmed down, what usually didn’t take long.

Overall Elena had come to enjoy her cousin’s company. And she couldn’t begin to express her gratitude for everything he had done for her. He had taken her in when she had nowhere to go and he was doing his best to make her feel welcome in his home, without expecting anything in return. She didn’t know what she would have done without Gideon.

She worried about him, though. It was clear that he was under immense strain, working on weekends and sometimes through the night. Apparently the recently appointed Minister had some problems adjusting to his new position and her cousin had to run back and forth between him and the so-called _Council_ to try and keep things on track.

On top of that Gideon seemed to have some serious issues with some of the other family members, especially their grandfather and his brother. He never really talked about the reasons, just hinted and joked about it sometimes. Since she felt she had yet to earn the right to ask, she smiled and stayed silent whenever he did so.

Over time Elena realized that her cousin trusted no one, neither family nor friend. She wasn’t even sure whether he had actual friends; his work certainly didn’t leave much time for social life. Yet she was convinced that his isolation must be self-inflicted, she couldn’t believe that someone as handsome and charming as Gideon could possibly have any trouble making friends.

Her cousin’s paranoia extended to Dumbledore, too. He didn’t trust the professor’s motives and made it clear he didn’t believe in the whole _Merlin thing_. They had argued about it a few times. Elena found it difficult to explain why she believed Dumbledore; it was sort of an instinct, like the sense of familiarity she had felt when she had shaken the old man’s hand for the first time.

Dumbledore seemed confident that she would master control before the school term started and he had offered to teach her the actual bending once she came to Hogwarts. Gideon didn’t like the idea, but she was determined to learn how to use her powers. She would need them if she wanted to avenge her mother; and since her cousin had promised her his help in that endeavour he couldn’t really argue about her upcoming lessons with Dumbledore. Yet he had warned her again and again not to trust the old man blindly.

There were other things Elena was brooding about as well. Somehow the press had gotten wind of her mother’s death and for days the murder of Catherine de Villiers, who had been believed dead for many years, had been in the headlines. With glee the papers had raked up every scandal her mother had ever been involved in; nothing better than a juicy story to take people’s minds of the real problems the country was facing. At first Misty had tried to hide the articles from her, but Elena had insisted to read everything that was published about her mother.

She had learned a lot that way, first and foremost that she hadn’t known her mother as well as she had always thought. Apparently Catherine de Villiers had been quite an elusive character in her youth, partying wildly and dating a lot of guys her family had deemed inappropriate, before she had ended up with none other than Sirius Black. To Elena’s utmost shock most of the papers seemed to take it for a given fact that he was her father. After reading that she had been very upset and so she had decided to ask her cousin for the truth.

Unfortunately Gideon didn’t know her father’s identity; he had advised her not to believe anything the papers said. Yet with her mother gone she longed more than ever to find out who her father was. She wasn’t quite certain what would be worse, never knowing who he had been or to learn the truth just to see that he was already dead. Or even worse still: that he was alive but had no interest to meet her, that he was a Death Eater... The possibilities were endless.

Since Elena had started her control lessons she had noticed that her little outbursts of uncontrollable magic had all but stopped; so there was some measurable progress at least. She had developed a new sensitivity for her powers; she was able to sense a light rise in energy every day.

It seemed rather constant now, not as erratic and sudden as it had been in the past. And it happened completely independent of any nightmares; in fact she hadn’t dreamed about Harry Potter since she had arrived in Britannia. Since she was used to constant flashes of insight into his mind from the last year, she had been worried about the sudden _radio silence_ at first. Had something happened to him? But she had calmed herself with the thought that the papers would certainly mention if any ill should befall the _Chosen One_ ; he was featured even more frequently than her mother.

 

* * *

 

 

One afternoon when she had just settled in the library to read a heavy tome about Hogwarts that Gideon had recommended to her, she was startled by an owl tapping at the window. It carried a letter that was addressed to her in her cousin’s elegant hand. The bird hooted at her impatiently; apparently it was supposed to wait for her reply. Curiously she opened the envelope.

 

_Hello Elena,_

_I just ran into our cousin Daphne at the Manor. She keeps on bug-_

_gering me that she wants to meet you... Are you up for a visit?_

_Gideon_

_PS: Daphne is okay, a little annoying but fun to hang out with._

 

Elena hesitated. On one hand it would be nice to finally see another human being beside Gideon and Dumbledore, on the other hand she wasn’t sure she wanted that person to be the girl that Malfoy git had a _thing_ for, as Zabini had said. In the end she decided to give Daphne the benefit of a doubt; after all, what did she have to lose? It wasn’t like she had anything better planned. So she sent her ‘ _Okay’_ with the owl and sat down to wait, too tense to properly concentrate on her reading.

It wasn’t long before Misty appeared and informed her that Daphne had arrived and was waiting in the parlour. Nervously Elena checked her reflection in the window; she was wearing jeans and a t-shirt and her hair was its usual mess. Frantically combing through the curls with her fingers she wondered whether she should have changed. Judging by the clothes her cousin had borrowed her, Daphne certainly had an exquisite taste in fashion and the outfit Elena was currently sporting definitely qualified as _‘too Muggle’_ as Gideon would have said.

Then she frowned defiantly and straightened her shoulders. This was how she liked to dress and she wasn’t about to change that for the sake of her snobbish relatives. So she took a deep breath and left the library to go and meet another cousin.

 

* * *

 

Seeing Daphne for the first time was quite a shock. It was like meeting another version of herself; a taller, prettier and better dressed version who had perfect hair on top of that. Elena immediately understood how Malfoy could have taken her for her cousin, the resemblance was truly striking. They stared at each other dumbfounded, the other girl clearly as taken aback as she was herself.

Daphne was faster to recover. “Wow,” she said, stretching the word, “that’s so creepy!”

Elena nodded mechanically, taking in the rest of her cousin’s appearance. Daphne was wearing a fashionable summer dress that flattered her enviable figure and showed off her long legs. She had paired it with high-heeled sandals and a small designer handbag. Altogether she looked like she just came from a photo-shoot for the cover of _Witch Weekly._

As if to complete the picture of perfection her cousin gave her dazzling smile and stretched out a well-manicured hand. “Hi, I’m Daphne.”

Elena gulped. “Elena,” she managed to say and shook the offered hand, painfully aware of the sad state her own nails were in.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you,” said Daphne enthusiastically. “I would’ve liked to visit earlier but Gideon insisted you weren’t ready for visitors.” A sympathetic expression settled on her beautiful features. “I’m very sorry about your mother.”

“Th-Thank you,” Elena mumbled, she felt more uncomfortable by the minute. _Why have I agreed to this?_ she wondered frantically.

For a moment Daphne regarded her worriedly. Then her face lit up. “I’ve got an idea,” she declared cheerfully. “It’s such a beautiful day, why don’t we go outside and enjoy the sun?”

Elena had no choice but to agree. “Sure,” she said, attempting an uncertain smile.

“Great!” Her cousin beamed at her, positively delighted. She clapped her hands. “Lookey!” she called demandingly.

Gideon’s house-elf appeared with a pop, bowing deeply. “Yes, Mistress Daphne?”

“We would like tea and some cakes. You can serve it on the garden terrace,” she ordered methodically.

“At once, Mistress Daphne.” Lookey bowed again and disapparated.

“Wonderful,” stated Daphne and took Elena’s arm as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “Let’s go! I want to know everything about you!”

With her cousin leading the way they wandered out into the gardens and settled on some sunloungers on the terrace behind the house. Daphne had been right; it was a beautiful day. The sun was finally shining and it was pleasantly warm. As her cousin chattered animatedly about this and that Elena found herself relaxing. _This isn’t so bad after all_ , she decided, watching Daphne sip on her tea in a perfectly cultivated manner.

Despite her giving mostly monosyllabic answers the other girl managed to keep the conversation flowing naturally, without any awkward silences. She talked about her parents, her younger sister and the holiday the two of them had just spent with their father in France; reminiscing about shopping in Paris, visiting the Louvre and meeting the Prince of Monaco.

Fascinated Elena listened to her; Daphne’s stories illustrated that her cousin lived in a completely different world. After a while the conversation turned towards school; she finally started to thaw out and answered Daphne’s curious questions about Ilvermorny, while asking about Hogwarts in turn.

“I hope you’re going to be in Slytherin,” her cousin said, assuring her quite convincingly that it was the best of all houses in Hogwarts. “And the green will go so well with your eyes,” she declared with a serious expression, before bursting into melodic laughter.

Elena laughed with her; Daphne’s easy-going manner was as charming as it was infectious. She found that she was rather enjoying her cousin’s company. _Maybe being a part of this family won’t be so bad after all_ , she mused.

From school Daphne came onto talking about her friends. As it turned out her best friend was Blaise Zabini, closely followed by none other than Draco Malfoy. Shuffling awkwardly on her seat Elena tried to bring her cousin’s stories into line with her own impressions of the two guys. _Well, Zabini was certainly nice and charming,_ she pondered, _until he wasn’t..._

Her disbelief must have shown on her face, for Daphne asked her what the matter was. After some hesitation she decided to tell her about her previous encounter with the other girl’s _friends_. When she described how Malfoy had taken her for her cousin and how she had slapped him for his rudeness, she had Daphne laughing tears.

“I wish I could’ve seen that,” she sighed, carefully dabbing her eyes to not ruin her makeup. “Draco must’ve taken you for a Muggleborn,” she said then, somewhat apologetic. “His parents brought him up with very strict beliefs, you see.”

Elena was tempted to tell her exactly what she thought about Malfoy’s _‘strict beliefs’_ , but something made her hold her tongue. The afternoon with Daphne had been so pleasant; she didn’t want to ruin everything by starting an argument about the other girl’s friends.

Instead she told her about Zabini, but decided to skip over the part how he rescued her from Greyback. She hadn’t even mentioned her first encounter with the werewolf to Gideon and she didn’t want to blurt out the story to someone she had just met.

Daphne listened with a deepening frown. When Elena told her how Zabini had yelled at her before storming away, a look of pure horror appeared on her cousin’s face.

“He was clutching his arm?” she asked, obviously truly shocked by that detail. “His _left_ arm?”

Elena nodded, startled by the intensity of Daphne’s questioning gaze. “Why? What’s the matter?” she asked her anxiously.

Her cousin shook her head, looking deeply worried. “I don’t know yet, I’m going to have to talk to Blaise...” Suddenly she grabbed Elena’s hand, focusing her intently. “Would you do me a favour?”

She was more than a little freaked out by Daphne’s mysterious behaviour. “What favour?” she asked suspiciously.

“Don’t tell anyone about this, especially not Gideon!” said her cousin urgently.

Elena stared at her. _Why does she want me to keep quiet about this? What am I missing?”_

Daphne regarded her with a piercing look for a few seconds. Then she let go off her hand, her features stretching into a strained smile. “Let’s talk about something else, okay?” she said a little too eagerly.

Elena shrugged. “What do you want to talk about?”

She was sure her cousin knew exactly what Zabini’s crazy behaviour had been about, but she was also certain that Daphne wouldn’t tell her, no matter how often she asked. _Maybe I’ll ask Gideon_ , she thought defiantly.

Daphne considered her question for a moment, and then she smiled. “Are you coming to the St Mungo’s benefit?”

Elena grimaced; Gideon kept asking her the same question. From what she had gathered so far it was some kind of _‘Pureblood-only’_ event and she didn’t really feel like spending a whole afternoon with a bunch of stuck-up snobs, especially on that day... _My birthday_ , she thought darkly. The first birthday she had to spend without her mother. How she dreaded that day... Besides, her grandfather would certainly be at the event, and her mother’s sister; she wasn’t sure whether she was ready to face _those_ people.

“I don’t know,” she said hesitantly. “Are you going?”

“Of course!” Daphne declared enthusiastically. “It’s the event of the season, everyone is going! You should come,” she urged her, “I’ll introduce you to my friends and you can see that they’re not so bad.” She gave her a wink.

 _Yes, that’s exactly how I want to spend my birthday, making forced small talk with Malfoy and Zabini_ , Elena thought dryly. “I’m not sure yet,” she told her cousin evasively.

Daphne kept talking about the benefit event for some time, trying to convince her to come. Yet her thoughts seemed to be elsewhere and after a while she stated that she had to leave now.

“I hope I’ll see you there,” she said as she hugged Elena goodbye.

After her cousin had left, she stayed in the garden to enjoy the sun and the peaceful atmosphere, lost in thought. In the end she had decided three things:

  1. She rather liked her cousin Daphne.
  2. She would go to the benefit event and face the rest of the family.
  3. She _would_ find out what Blaise Zabini’s problem was.




	22. Swimming with Sharks (Part I)

On the morning of her birthday Elena awoke very early and with a sense of foreboding. The sun was already shining brightly through the windows, promising perfect summer weather. For a while she just lay there and stared at the canopy above her. Her birthday had always been her favourite day of the year; she had liked it even better than Christmas.

Since it unfailingly fell into the summer holidays, she had been used to spending the day with her mother, just the two of them. Every year they had done something special: visit a fair or the zoo, watch a Quidditch match, go to visit a museum or the theatre... Elena had treasured that time more than anything.

Without her mother her birthday had lost every bit of appeal to her; she wished there was a way to simply skip it.

She groaned. Not only was this day a painful reminder that her mother was gone, she also would have to spend it with a bunch of stuck-up Purebloods. Elena already regretted her decision to tell Gideon that she would accompany him to the St Mungo’s benefit event. Her cousin had reacted pleasantly surprised and she felt she couldn’t back out now... She sighed resignedly.

The benefit was scheduled to start at 2pm. To her surprise Daphne had sent her a letter yesterday, announcing she would come over to help her _‘get ready’_ around 11am. Elena wasn’t sure what to think about that; on the one hand she was glad that Daphne had apparently decided she wanted to be friends with her, on the other hand she was sure that her cousin’s idea of _‘getting ready’_ wasn’t quite in line with her own.

_Who needs three hours to get ready for a party?_ she wondered once more.

Gideon had decided to take the day off and they had agreed to have breakfast together. She wasn’t certain whether he knew that it was her birthday. He had probably seen the date on the documents making her a de Villiers, but that didn’t mean that he would remember...

While she got ready for breakfast she surveyed her face in the mirror. She looked older somehow, more serious.

“Elena de Villiers, that’s who you are now,” she told her reflection, testing the feel of her new name on her tongue. It was unfamiliar, but she rather liked the sound of it. She attempted a smile but failed miserably. Abruptly she turned her back on the mirror and left her room.

 

* * *

 

Determined not to let her cousin see how miserable she felt, she took a deep breath before entering the dining room, straightening herself. _I’m not going to cry today_ , she said to herself resolutely.

When she opened the door and got a look at the table, her mouth fell open in surprise. There were candles, gift-wrapped presents, even a cake...

Smiling brightly at her, Gideon set his newspaper aside. “Happy Birthday,” he said cheerfully.

“Th-Thank you,” she stammered, trying hard to regain her composure. “You... you shouldn’t have...”

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing.” Her cousin brushed off her stuttered thanks, clearly enjoying her amazement.

Slowly she broke into a smile. “Are these all for me?” she asked, eying the wrapped presents hesitantly.

“Sure,” said Gideon. “Go ahead!” He gave her a warm smile.

She started to unwrap the first gift. _Must be a book_ , she thought, judging by form and weight of the packet. As it turned out it wasn’t a book, but a photo album. Nervously she opened it.

From the first page a younger version of her mother was smiling at her, waving from a picture that must have been taken before Catherine had left Britannia. Elena gulped; involuntarily she found herself tearing up.

“I know you don’t have any pictures of your mother left,” Gideon stated quietly. “So I dug through my father’s old stuff and put these together...” He trailed off uncertainly.

Blinking away her tears Elena turned the page. The next photo showed a baby that she assumed was her mother, sleeping peacefully in the arms of a woman who looked oddly familiar...

“Who’s that?” she asked her cousin curiously.

Gideon leaned over to look at the picture. “That’s our grandmother,” he told her. Then he frowned, looking back and forth between her and the picture. “She looks just like you, don’t you think?”

Elena nodded, staring at the photograph. The young woman resembled her even more closely than Daphne did. Cautiously she turned another page. The next pictures showed her mother as a toddler, sometimes alone, sometimes playing with a blonde, slightly older boy. Even though he was very young, the resemblance to her cousin was undeniable.

“Is that your father?” she asked Gideon.

“Yes.” He nodded. “When you go on, you’ll find pictures of their younger siblings as well.”

Slowly turning more pages Elena watched captivated as her mother’s childhood came to life before her eyes.

“There, that’s Aunt Evaine,” said Gideon, pointing to a small, black-haired girl whose frown seemed far too serious for such a young child.

“And that’s Arthur.” The boy he indicated was black-haired as well.

“Mum told me her brothers died in the last war,” Elena said thoughtfully. “What happened to them?”

When her cousin didn’t give an answer, she lifted her gaze to look at him. She thought she had seen a flash of pain, before Gideon hurried to control his expression.

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I didn’t mean to be nosy.”

Her cousin gave her a strained smile. “I promise I’ll tell you about it, but not today.” His tone clearly stated that further questions would not be well received.

_Must be some kind of family trait_ , Elena mused darkly. Her mother had given her the same evasive answer whenever she had asked about her father. Yet she didn’t want to argue with Gideon, not after he had gone through so much trouble to make her birthday bearable for her.

Therefore she turned her attention back on the photo album. Her mother was a teenager now; there were some pictures showing her in school robes, surrounded by her friends. A few pages further she suddenly had to gasp. There was a photo of her mother with a very handsome young man, whom she was obviously madly in love with. The passionate kisses the two were exchanging made her blush in embarrassment.

Gideon chuckled. “That’s Sirius Black,” he informed her with an amused grin.

Elena stared at the man in the photograph, searching for some kind of resemblance between him and herself. She couldn’t find any; he certainly didn’t have her eyes. Feeling somewhat disappointed she turned the page to look at the last picture.

It showed her mother holding a tiny, black-haired baby. The love and devotion evident in her eyes caused Elena to tear up again. Blinking she looked at her cousin.

“Thank you so much, this is amazing,” she gave her heartfelt thanks to him.

“You’re welcome,” said Gideon, before demonstratively taking a look at his watch. “But now you should hurry to open your other presents.” He smirked. “That’s if you want to have some time left for breakfast before Daphne descends on us.”

Elena carefully put the album aside to pick up the next packet; it contained a large box. Curiously she lifted the lid to find a piece of fabric inside. It turned out to be a dress, a rather fancy cocktail dress she never would have picked for herself.

“I thought you might want something _appropriate_ to wear for today,” said Gideon quite seriously. “Since you’re basically going as my date we can’t have you dressing like a Muggle, can we?”

She knew he was teasing her and shot him a glare. Yet secretly she was relieved. All morning she had wondered what she could possibly wear to such a posh event; most likely she would have asked Misty to alter one of Daphne’s dresses for her. But this was certainly a more preferable solution.

Nervously she eyed the last present; it was rather large and she could have sworn that there was a rustling sound coming from inside. When she tore the wrapping open she found herself face to face with a beautiful barn owl, sitting in a cage. The bird clacked with its beak and hooted softly at her.

Suddenly Elena was overcome with a bubbling happiness. “She’s beautiful!” she exclaimed, beaming brightly at her cousin. “Thank you so much!”

Gideon smiled lightly about her excitement. “I’m glad you like the owl, but I’m afraid that _she_ is rather a _he_.”

“Oh.” Startled she turned back to the bird. “Sorry!” The owl hooted, somehow managing to look amused. She opened the cage door to let it out. “Here, want some toast?”

Majestically the bird settled next to her plate, allowing her to stroke its shiny feathers.

“What do you want to call him?” Gideon asked while pouring himself some tea.

“I don’t know yet,” she replied, regarding her new pet lovingly. “I need to get to know him first.”

 

* * *

 

 

As soon as Lookey had appeared to inform them about _Mistress Daphne’s_ arrival, said Daphne already barged into the room with a bright smile on her face.

“Happy Birthday!” she exclaimed excitedly.

Elena barely had the time to set down her cup before she was enveloped in a tight embrace. Startled by so much unexpected enthusiasm she awkwardly returned the hug.

“Thank you,” she said breathlessly. “But how did you...?”

“Gideon told me,” explained Daphne, releasing her. “I brought you a little something, but I see our cousin has already beaten my present.”

Gently she stroked the owl’s head; it hooted softly. Daphne turned to Gideon with a mock pout. “You never gave me an owl for my birthday!”

“That’s because you have an owl, Daphne,” he retorted dryly.

“But not such a pretty one!”

Gideon rolled his eyes at her.

“As I was saying,” Daphne returned her attention to Elena, “I have something for you. Bigsy!” she demanded sternly. “Where is the present?”

Only now Elena noticed the tiny house-elf that had entered the room in her cousin’s wake. It was overloaded with Daphne’s luggage, carrying a dress bag and a handbag and balancing several boxes. Now it set down the pile of cartons and started rummaging through the handbag.

“Here it is, Mistress Daphne!” Triumphantly the elf presented a little box that was decorated with a green bow.

Daphne took it to hand it over to Elena. “Happy Birthday!” she said once more, beaming brightly.

Nervously she opened the present. Inside the box was a necklace, the pendant an emerald-green stone in a silver setting.

“It’s beautiful,” she said uneasily, “but you shouldn’t have...”

“It’s nothing,” Daphne brushed off her thanks, just like Gideon had. “I’m glad you like it! I bought it in Paris for myself, but then I thought it would look even better on you.”

“Thank you,” said Elena, admiring the necklace thoughtfully. _It’s not real, is it?_ She didn’t know the slightest thing about jewellery. _It can’t be a real emerald_ , she decided. _That would be way too much..._

“Bigsy, take my things to Elena’s room,” Daphne ordered her house-elf while helping herself to a cup of tea. “Then you may leave.”

The elf bowed, picked up its load and disappeared with a pop.

Daphne was now eying the dress Elena had gotten from Gideon with apparent delight. “I love it!” she declared cheerfully. “You do have excellent taste,” she complimented him.

Gideon smirked. “I’m glad it finds favour with you.”

Daphne ignored his blatant sarcasm and turned to Elena. “Are you planning on wearing it today? It would go really well with your new necklace,” she thought aloud. “Then you just need some decent shoes – and we definitively have to do something about your hair.” She frowned at her mess of curls.

Gideon snorted. “And that’s my cue to leave.” He drowned the rest of his tea and got up from the table. “Remember Ladies, we leave here at 2pm sharp!”

 

* * *

 

Elena stared at her reflection in wonder. If it hadn’t been for her unusual eye colour, she wouldn’t have believed that the girl in the mirror was her. She looked undeniably pretty, even standing next to her stunning cousin. Daphne hadn’t only managed to tame her curls; she had fixed them in an elegant hairstyle. Her cousin had also done her makeup and taken care of her nails, no matter how much she had protested.

Daphne had worked methodically, using her wand now and then, all the while chattering amicably. When Elena had cautiously asked her whether she was seventeen already, she had just laughed and reminded her that magic performed in this house wasn’t traceable.

After Daphne had finally been satisfied with her appearance, she had readied herself, what had taken her less than half the time she had spend on Elena. Now she was putting the finishing touches to their outfits, selecting a pair of her own shoes for Elena to wear and helping her put the necklace on.

“Perfect,” she commented contently, “the emerald really brings out your eyes, just like I thought.”

As her cousin slipped into her shoes, they could hear Gideon calling from downstairs. “Daphne!”

“Coming!” Daphne yelled back, before smiling at her. “Ready?”

“I hope so,” she answered, uncertainly returning her cousin’s smile. _Well, it’s certainly too late to back out now, isn’t it?_ she mused as they left the room and made their way downstairs, Daphne casually slipping her arm through Elena’s. The shoes her cousin had borrowed her were more than a little too high-heeled for her taste, but Daphne had put some charm on them to make them more comfortable. At least she had managed to walk without stumbling so far.

Gideon was waiting for them in the entrance hall. He was always impeccably dressed, but today he looked particularly handsome, having opted to wear black dress robes.

“Finally!” He sighed exaggeratedly. “But I see the wait was worth it.”

Slightly embarrassed under his appreciating gaze Elena concentrated on making her way down the stairs without breaking her neck.

With a charming smile Gideon offered her his arm. “You look very pretty, Elena. Are you ready to go?”

She sighed resignedly and took the offered arm. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

He gave her hand an encouraging squeeze. “It’ll be fine, trust me.”

“Hey, what about me?” Daphne asked indignantly.

Gideon smirked. “You can have my other arm, sweet cousin.”

With a snort she took his arm. “Why don’t I get compliments?”

“You certainly don’t need me to worship at your altar,” Gideon said dryly. “I’m sure you’ll have your whole bunch of admirers flocking around you as soon as we arrive.”

Daphne smacked him hard on the arm, but he just grinned and told them to hold on tight. In the blink of an eye they were whisked away.

 

* * *

 

When Elena opened her eyes they were standing in the middle of nowhere. As far as the eye could see there was nothing but fields and forests and a few sheep grazing about.

“Where are we?” she asked, surprised by the scenery. “Where is the house?”

“About four miles in that direction,” Gideon informed her, vaguely waving his hand in the air.

“ _Four miles_?”

The panic about having to cover such a distance in her heels must have shown clearly on her face; her cousins laughed in unison.

“Don’t worry, we don’t have to walk,” Daphne reassured her. “Look, over there!”

Elena turned to where her cousin was pointing. About a hundred yards in front of them the road on which they were standing forked and on one side of the street several dozen carriages were waiting.

As they walked over Gideon explained that the wards protecting Sinclair Manor from unwanted apparition extended several miles around the estate, designed to ward of Muggles as well.

“And since all those lovely ladies don’t want ashes all over their fancy dresses this is the easiest way to get the guests to the manor,” he finished his explanation.

Now and then there were pops of apparition behind them, announcing the arrival of other guests.

In front of the carriages a long queue of elegant looking wizards and witches had already formed. Greeting the guests were several house-elves, all dressed in the same uniform, a matt-golden dish-towel embroidered with a dark-grey family crest. The elves led the people to the carriages in small groups; a whole caravan was already moving down the street.

Elena automatically moved to join the end of the line, but Gideon took her arm and led her and Daphne to the front. The other guests didn’t seem to mind that they were jumping the queue; they all appeared to know her cousins and Gideon was greeted by many with evident respect; some people even bowed and called him _‘My Lord’_. He acknowledged the greetings with dignified nods, but didn’t stop to talk to anyone.

She was painfully aware that people were staring at her curiously and she could hear them whispering as they walked past. Blushing in embarrassment she clung to her cousin’s arm, part of her wishing that she had never agreed to come here.

The house-elves greeted _Master Gideon_ with deep bows and assigned a carriage just for the three of them. Relieved to get away from the stares and whispers Elena climbed in, taking a deep breath to try and calm herself. _Why the hell did I agree to this?_ she asked herself once more.

When their carriage started to move, Daphne leaned towards her and gave her an encouraging smile. “Don’t worry about them, Elena. They’ll soon find something else to talk about.”

Gideon squeezed her hand. “Just stay by my side and you’ll be fine.”

Daphne winked at her. “And don’t hit anyone.”

She laughed nervously, getting tenser the closer they came to their destination.

“Hit anyone?” Gideon had raised his brows.

Daphne launched into the story about Elena’s confrontation with Malfoy at _The Leaking Cauldron_.

Gideon didn’t seem to find it nearly as hilarious as her other cousin did; he frowned at Elena. “You hit a Malfoy? Seriously?”

When she nodded timidly, he shook his head. “You certainly have a talent to get yourself into trouble,” he said rather reproachfully.

“Ease up, Gideon, she had no idea who he was,” Daphne came to her defense.

He snorted. “Fine. Just don’t do it again.”

Elena nodded sheepishly.

“Though I would’ve loved to see Malfoy’s face,” her cousin said then, suddenly smirking with glee.

“See, that’s the spirit!” stated Daphne cheerfully. “Draco needs a good smack from time to time.”

Gideon’s smirk deepened. “I’m sure you enjoy _smacking_ Malfoy,” he said suggestively.

Daphne rolled her eyes. “I told you, there’s nothing going on with Draco.”

He perked a brow. “He follows you around like a lost puppy.”

Elena had a hard time picturing Malfoy as a puppy; there had been nothing cuddly about the guy when she had met him. Yet she found listening to her cousins’ banter quite relaxing.

“So what if he does?” Daphne retorted blithely. “I never promised him anything.”

Gideon sighed. “You know what’s expected of you, Daphne. You shouldn’t...”

“Not you, too,” Daphne cut him off. “I had this talk about a hundred times from Mother and Grandfather, thank you very much!”

He shrugged. “I’m just saying that you shouldn’t lead him on,” he said matter-of-factly. “Have you told him?”

Daphne frowned at him. “It isn’t even official yet. At least I should be allowed to decide for myself when I want to tell my friends,” she said angrily.

Elena had lost track of the conversation some time ago. _What are they talking about?_ she wondered curiously.

Gideon raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Look, the Malfoys have family in France. He’s bound to hear about your engagement sooner or later. Better if it comes from you.”

_Engagement?_ Elena’s eyebrows shot up at their own accord. _She’s not even seventeen!_

When Daphne realized that she was gaping at her, she gave her a strained smile. “Welcome to our world,” she said, sounding slightly bitter.

Before she could open her mouth to ask about her cousin’s engagement their carriage stopped with a jolt; apparently they had arrived at their destination. Elena’s nervousness immediately returned in full force.

Gideon climbed from the carriage and offered first Daphne, then Elena a hand to help them down. As soon as she was out in the open again, she felt curious stares resting upon her. She tried to ignore the unpleasant sense of being watched and took in the impressive sight of Sinclair Manor.

The imposing facade was a masterpiece of ornate sandstone, the central section crowned by a massive cupola and flanked by side wings.

Once more Gideon offered her his arm, leaning close to speak to her without any of the other guest being able to overhear what he said. “Remember, you’re a de Villiers now. Hold your head high, smile and whatever my mother is going to say – just ignore her. That’s what I usually do.”

Before she could ask what he meant by that, they had made their way up the steps leading to the entrance. Inside the elegant entrance hall another queue had been formed by the people who were waiting to greet the event’s hostess.

As they were standing in line Elena had the opportunity to take a first look at Gideon’s mother. Vivianne de Villiers was a stunning beauty with silver-blonde hair, who carried herself like a queen. Busy greeting one guest after the other she seemed to be all charm and smiles, while radiating grace and distinguished dignity.

Yet when she spotted her son in the crowd something about the woman’s smile froze; her gaze flicked from Daphne standing at his left to Elena on his other side. Her eyes seemed to narrow for a split-second before she turned to greet the next guest, the dazzling smile firmly in place again.

Not sure whether she had just been imagining things Elena took a calming breath, involuntarily straightening her posture. She was determined not to let herself be intimidated by this woman or anyone else of these stuck-up people for that matter.

When it was their turn to be greeted, Vivianne de Villiers turned to Daphne first. “Daphne! You look exquisite, my dear!” Gracefully she leaned in to kiss the air next to Daphne’s cheek.

“Thank you, Aunt Vivianne, you look amazing as always,” her cousin replied charmingly.

She was rewarded with a dignified smile. “Your mother is looking for you, my dear. You should go and find her.”

Daphne nodded. “At once, Aunt Vivianne.” She turned to Gideon and Elena. “I’ll find you later.” And with that her cousin floated away.

“Gideon!” He was given the same greeting as Daphne. “And you brought Elena, what an unexpected surprise!”

The woman gave her an icy smile but made no effort to offer further greeting or introduce herself to her. Instead she leaned closer to her son and lowered her voice, but not enough for Elena to miss her next words.

“I thought we had agreed you wouldn’t bring the bastard!” Her voice was an angry hiss but she wore a soft smile for the sake of the on-lookers.

“I never agreed to anything like that,” Gideon said coldly, smiling even more brightly than his mother. “And in case you were too busy with party planning to take notice of anything else, let me inform you that Elena isn’t a bastard anymore. Grandfather made her one of us.”

Vivianne de Villiers shot her a dark look before turning back to him. “You can call her what you want and you can try and dress her up; she’ll always be a bastard!” Her voice was dripping with venom. “I won’t have her embarrassing this family in front of all our guests!”

The woman’s hurtful words were almost too much for Elena to bear. She had to fight the impulse to flee from this cold-hearted person and the stares she could feel digging into her back. _I never should’ve come_ , she thought desperately, pondering whether or not she should make a run for it.

Suddenly she was overcome with fury. _Who does this woman think she is? What have I done for her to treat me like this?_ Defiantly she raised her chin. _I won’t let her bully me!_ She carefully controlled her expression, determined not to let anyone see her insecurity.

Gideon had shot her a worried glance upon his mother’s harsh words. Apparently reassured with what he saw he turned back to Vivianne to kiss her cheek, lingering for a moment to audibly whisper in her ear.

“Don’t worry Mother, I explicitly told her not to dance on the tables.”

The smile dripped from Vivianne de Villiers exquisite features.

With a smirk Gideon winked at Elena. “You will be good, won’t you?”

Against her will she felt the corners of her mouth starting to twitch. “I’ll try my best to contain my excitement,” she said dryly, deeply satisfied with the anger flashing in the other woman’s eyes.

“See? Nothing to fear!” Gideon declared blithely. “But we’re keeping you from you duties, Mother. Your guests are waiting.” And with that he took Elena’s arm and pulled her away.

“Sorry about that,” he said quietly, a rueful expression on his face.

“Is your mother always so...” She trailed off, searching for a word to politely describe the woman’s awful behaviour.

“Cold? Cruel? Obnoxious?” her cousin offered with a strained smile. “Believe me, you haven’t seen the least of it.”

At the back of the hall large glass doors stood open, leading to the gardens behind the house. As they stepped out into the sun a house-elf came bustling towards them, lifting a tablet with delicate champagne flutes over his head.

“A drink, Master Gideon?” it squealed in a high-pitched voice.

“Sure,” said Gideon. “You want some?” He eyed Elena uncertainly.

Hesitantly she took the glass she was offered. Her mother had always been very strict about alcohol, but it was her birthday after all. And after the confrontation with Vivianne de Villiers she felt like she had earned herself one small glass of champagne.

Sipping cautiously she took in the sight in front of her. The gardens of Sinclair Manor were vast and well-kept; between elaborate flowerbeds and perfectly pruned bushes hundreds of people were milling about. She could hear them talking and laughing, accompanied by music coming from a string ensemble. Elena tried to picture her mother in this posh environment, but failed. The Catherine Clarke she had known all her life had never been keen on pomp and circumstance.

As they mingled with the crowd, people were openly staring at her. Shyly she clung to her cousin’s arm. Now and then Gideon stopped to exchange easy pleasantries with other guests, making a point to introduce Elena to them. Soon her head was buzzing with names and titles. To her immense relief people treated her politely enough; some of them even offered belated condolences for her mother. Yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that they started to whisper about her as soon as she turned her back on them.

“Are you allright?” Gideon asked her after she had been quiet for a while.

Uncertainly she shrugged her shoulders, avoiding his questioning gaze. “Sure, why wouldn’t I be?”

Her cousin gave her a knowing look. “Don’t worry about the stares and the whispers,” he said softly. “People are simply curious about the new de Villiers. Once they get used to seeing you around they’ll find something else to gossip about.”

She glanced at him from beneath her lashes. “Are you sure about that?”

He gave her an encouraging smile. “Absolutely.” Then he smirked, perking a brow. “Unless you do start dancing on tables.”

Elena snorted, strangely comforted by his teasing. “So far I don’t feel tempted. But if you keep on supplying me with champagne... maybe. That lame excuse of a band will have to play something a little more lively, though.”

Gideon chuckled. “That’s the spirit!” he said cheerfully, before he spotted Daphne waving them over.


	23. Deception

The warm air of the sunny summer afternoon was filled with the sound of laughter and cultivated chit-chat, accompanied by the discreet music from a string ensemble. Altogether the rather pleasant ambience couldn’t have been more in contrast to his current state of mind. Keeping up a polite façade had never been more straining. Wishing himself far away, Blaise took another sip of his drink. To his regret it was only champagne. _I’m definitely going to need something stronger to bear this much longer_ , he thought wearily.

As always Vivianne de Villiers’ annual benefit event in favour of St Mungo’s was a sweeping success: The crème de la crème of the wizarding world was in attendance, milling about the spacious gardens of Sinclair Manor, exchanging pleasantries and sipping expensive champagne.     

Blaise was used to this kind of event; from an early age he had been dragged along by his mother as she took part in an endless variety of social occasions. Though it was usually quite dull for a child, he had come to enjoy these events over the years; not because of the company, but for the opportunity to watch people, to try and unlock their secrets.

He was rather good at that sort of thing. A snippet of conversation, an exchange of discreet glances was all he needed to work out alliances, enmities and secret affairs. Ever the quiet observer, reading people came naturally to him. Secrets were what Blaise used to live and breathe for. Yet today he wasn’t lurking in the shadows to spy on the guests, but to avoid unwanted company, so far rather successfully. He wasn’t here to socialize; he had come to face Draco. _Finally._

It had been almost four weeks since Draco had told him about the task the Dark Lord planned to bestow on the youngest Malfoy; four weeks since the fateful day Blaise’s world had collapsed. _Bianca_ …

The thought of his sister send a searing ache through his heart; the pain so real, so physical as if he had been stabbed with a dagger. It took him every ounce of self-control to refrain from screaming out in agony. Gritting his teeth he clutched the champagne flute in his hand so hard that the delicate glass broke in his grip. He flung the broken remains into the nearest flowerbed, cursing deftly under his breath. After a quick glance around to reassure himself that his outburst had went unnoticed, he stepped into a small pavilion.

Safely out of sight from the other guests he took a deep breath to try and calm down. _Focus,_ Blaise reprimanded himself. He opened his fist to examine the damage the loss of control had inflicted on his hand. Slightly detached he took in the sight of blood pooling in his palm, felt the warm liquid trickling over his fingers. There was almost no pain, only a dull throbbing. He cautiously picked a few shards of glass from the cuts and then watched as the bleeding ceased, the wounds contracting and mending in front of his eyes. It only took a few seconds before every trace of the injury had disappeared.  

Blaise wiped away the remaining blood with his handkerchief before he returned his attention to the party. _I need to find Draco and get this over with_ , he thought, searching the crowd for a flash of platinum blond hair. Apparently Malfoy wasn’t there yet. _Of course he isn’t here yet,_ he reflected sarcastically, _a Malfoy arrives fashionably late on principle._ He decided to remain in the pavilion for now. It was strategically well located to keep a look on the entrance area, while it offered shelter from prying eyes.    

For the last month he had consequently avoided the company of any human being, hiding out in his room like a wounded animal. With his mother gone to prepare her eighth wedding, which was to take place in a week’s time at the French chateau of her husband-to-be, Blaise had the whole manor to himself. His mother had not made another try at coaxing him into attending the ceremony before her departure, and in turn he had not bothered to inform her about the death of her daughter.

_She wouldn’t have cared anyway_. For a while he had actually pondered whether she might have had a hand in his sister’s death, but then he had quickly dismissed that theory. His mother had shied away from killing Bianca the first time, and furthermore she had rid herself of her Death Eater connections years ago, along with her Lestrange husband. _No, this time Mother isn’t the one to blame_ , Blaise was sure of it.

Once again he went through the list in his head. _Greyback, Selwyn, Travers, and two more second-rate Death Eaters whose names I’ve yet to find out._ Like a mantra he had repeated it over and over again, vowing to himself not to rest before he had crossed every single name off the list. Even then he wouldn’t be done. _I need to find out who was behind the attack, who gave the order for the raid, and make him pay as well._ Most likely it would turn out to be a suicide mission; he had no illusions about that. Yet he couldn’t have cared less. _I will have my revenge, no matter the cost_.

Blaise had it all mapped out in his head. The first step of the plan was to fill in the blanks on his list, and to achieve that he needed to find his way behind the lines of the enemy, i.e. the Death Eater ranks. That was the first obstacle on his way: the Dark Lord usually didn’t accept underage recruits, Draco Malfoy being the solitary exception so far.

Which was the reason why he was here today. He was going to find out what Draco’s task was and then do everything he could to make sure he succeeded. Thereby he would put himself forward for a place among the Dark Lord’s followers as soon as he came of age in a few months. _He won’t reject someone with my talents. Failsafe._   

The only flaw in this plan was that Blaise hadn’t exactly been a proponent of pureblood supremacy in the past, a fact Draco was well aware of. If he all of the sudden expressed the wish to become a Death Eater, his best friend would become suspicious. He could only hope whatever task the Dark Lord had in store for Malfoy was a difficult one, so that Draco would have to accept his help without thinking twice.  

He was so preoccupied with his musings that he didn’t hear the light steps behind him until it was already too late.

“So this is where you’re hiding!”

 

* * *

 

Blaise felt himself tense up in an instant. Of all people to catch him unawares, it just had to be _her._ He took a deep breath and carefully put on a carefree mask before turning around to face her. “Hello Daphne.”

She acknowledged his greeting with a smile, but her gaze surveyed him intently. “I’m waiting for your excuse,” she stated matter-of-factly.

“And what exactly do I need to apologize for?” He tried to sound amused, forcing himself to smile at her. His face actually hurt from the effort.

The smile slipped from her delicate features, her eyes betraying her concern. “What’s wrong, Blaise?”

He should have known better than to try and fool her, she knew him too well. For a moment the urge to simply tell her the truth was almost unbearable, but somehow he managed to suppress it. _Not an option, Blaise_ , he reminded himself. As far as Daphne knew his sister had died five years ago, and for his plan to work it had to remain that way.

He gulped, trying to keep his expression impassive. “Why do you think something’s wrong?”

At this her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Let’s see, shortly after the holidays started you basically went missing and ignored all the owls I sent.”

As she said it Blaise dimly recalled that there had been in fact quite a few owls from Daphne, their letters all unopened in a pile on his desk. He squirmed uncomfortably under her accusing gaze before deciding that offense was the best defense.

“You know I’m not a big fan of love letters, love; if there’s something you want just tell me in person.” This time he went for a suggestive/flirtatious tone, once again failing miserably.

Daphne raised an elegant eyebrow. “Okay Zabini, first off: don’t try that on me; and secondly: you’re usually much better at it. Which brings me back to my question: What the hell is wrong with you?”  

Sighing in frustration Blaise raked a hand over his hair. “Look Daphne, I’m sorry for not answering your letters, but I was… _busy._ ” His apology sounded weak even to his own ears.

“So, how was your summer so far?” he asked, in a desperate attempt to distract her.

Now she looked seriously alarmed. “You haven’t read a single one of my letters, have you.” It wasn’t a question.

Blaise felt a slight flicker of guilt; he had been so absorbed in his sorrow that he had completely forgotten about the rest of the world. “I’m really sorry… but like I said, I was busy.” The excuse wasn’t any better the second time.

Daphne met his apologetic glance with a scrutinizing stare; he forced himself not to look away.

“Busy with whom?” Unnoticed by the two of them Malfoy had entered the pavilion, his casual question cutting their staring contest short.

Immensely relieved by the interruption Blaise turned towards him. “I don’t kiss and tell.” He smirked at Malfoy in greeting, which turned out to be much easier than smiling. “Draco.”

“Blaise.” Draco gave him a nod and then focused his attention on Daphne. He took her hand to briefly brush his lips over her knuckles, before bestowing his most charming smile on her. “You are as beautiful as ever, Daphne.”

Blaise couldn’t refrain from rolling his eyes. _Pathetic Malfoy, just pathetic._

“Thank you, Draco. You look rather dashing yourself,” Daphne replied sweetly, flashing Malfoy a dazzling smile. Her eyes were twinkling with mischief, clearly betraying that she was toying with him like she had been for months now, but the idiot blushed anyway and gaped at her like a hooked trout.  

_Seriously_ , Blaise thought, inwardly groaning, _time to get over it, Draco._ He audibly cleared his throat.

Draco, suddenly reminded of his presence, overcame his stupefaction and let go of Daphne’s hand quickly, blushing some more in embarrassment. “I was just about to go and… get myself a drink, anyone else?” he offered, obviously looking for an excuse to leave and regain his composure. “Blaise?”

“Sure mate,” Blaise agreed, sending him a knowing smirk.

“Daphne?”

“No, thank you,” she declined, gracefully fluttering her eyelashes.

Draco almost tripped over his own feet in his haste to get away from her.

Blaise waited until he was out of earshot before turning to Daphne. “Is it really necessary to keep on torturing him like that?”

Daphne pretended to pout at this. “Loosen up Blaise, I was just enjoying myself.” A wolfish grin that didn’t quite suit her lovely features spread across her face. “You’ve got to admit that it’s rather funny to see him squirm.”

He smirked, having to agree with her on that. “Yet it’s starting to get old, don’t you think?”  

She shrugged her shoulders, the grin slowly fading. “Soon I’m going to have to quit anyway, so don’t begrudge me having a little fun while I can.”

Blaise frowned at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Daphne gave him a wry smile. “If you had read my letters you would know.” There was a distinct hint of accusation in her voice.

Instantly feeling uncomfortable again he lowered his gaze. “Look, how many times do you want me to say that I’m sorry?” He raised his eyes to find that she was observing him closely.

“Keep pretending all you like, Blaise,” she stated sternly, “I know something’s up with you and I’m going to find out what it is.”

He managed to return her piercing glare without blinking. “Good luck with that.”

Daphne didn’t reply, but continued on eying him suspiciously.

“So, are you going to tell me about the content of your letters or do I actually have to read them?” Blaise asked her in a casual attempt to break the tension.

She didn’t take the bait. “I’ll tell you my story if you tell me yours.”

Draco’s return spared him the need to answer. He accepted the glass he was handed and gratefully noticed that Malfoy had skipped the champagne and directly gone for the stronger stuff. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Draco took a sip of his own drink before addressing Daphne. “I just ran into your sister; apparently your mother is about to give her speech and she wants the two of you by her side for that.”

Daphne snorted. “I think I’m going to pass, Tori can have the spotlight all to herself.” Suddenly she broke into a smile and waved at somebody behind Blaise’s back. “Besides, there’s someone I want to introduce to you two.”

Draco, about to take another sip of his drink, followed her line of sight. All of the sudden his eyes went wide and he choked on his firewhiskey. Coughing and spluttering he managed to utter a single word: “ _Mudblood_ …”  

Blaise felt his eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Granger?” It was the first name that came to mind whenever Draco talked about _‘the Mudblood’;_ yet the notion of Hermione Granger showing up at an event like this was so absurd that he had to laugh in spite of himself. He turned around to see what had startled his friend.

He recognized Daphne’s cousin Gideon de Villiers, striding towards them across the lawn. And by his side was…

Instantly his whole body went rigid, his hands balled to fists at his sides and he clenched his teeth. His field of vision seemed to narrow, all he could see was _her_. _The Daphne-lookalike. Elena Clarke. If that’s even her real name…_

“What the hell is de Villiers doing with that filthy mudblood?”

Draco’s livid question sounded strangely muffled to his ears, black spots were dancing in front of him. As his lungs started aching from the lack of oxygen, Blaise abruptly became aware that he had been holding his breath. He sucked in a breath, hot fury burning through his veins like fire.

“I sincerely hope your crude question wasn’t referring to _my dear cousin_ ,” Daphne tut-tuted at Draco’s lack of decorum. “Though I’ve no idea why you would take Elena for a Muggleborn.”

He heard Draco gasp in shock. “ _Your cousin?!”_

“That’s right,” Daphne declared cheerfully. “I promised I would introduce her to my friends, so you guys better be on your best behaviour!” Her tone turned slightly threatening towards the end, without looking he knew that she send them warning glares.

His eyes remained fixed on the other girl. She looked entirely different than she had the fateful day he had met her at _The_ _Leaking Cauldron_. Wearing an elegant cocktail dress, her then unruly hair partly pinned up, partly flowing over her shoulders in soft black waves, she fit in seamlessly with the Pureblood nobility around her. Halfway across the lawn she stumbled, seemingly having some trouble with her heels on the uneven ground. He watched as de Villiers caught her before she could fall, swiftly taking hold of her arm to steady her.

_Still playing the damsel in distress,_ Blaise thought darkly, glaring at her with hatred so intense that she should have dropped dead on the spot. Unfortunately she didn’t oblige him, didn’t even look up, her eyes carefully trained on the ground to avoid another misstep. De Villiers proved to be more perceptive though. His head snapped up; his searching gaze was instantly drawn towards Blaise, coming to rest on him.         

He ignored the older guy’s scrutiny and continued to stare daggers at the girl. De Villiers, seemingly having realized that he wasn’t the target of Blaise’s rancour, put his arm around her shoulders in a gesture of protection and sent him a warning look.

_As if she is in need of any protection,_ Blaise thought irately. He knew exactly that she wasn’t as innocent as she looked. She was powerful, perhaps even more powerful than de Villiers and himself combined. _I won’t fall for her act twice_.

That day she had deceived him; lured him with her beauty and her temper.  And while he had wasted his time _saving_ her from Greyback, the werewolf had moved on and found another victim, someone who wasn’t able to defend herself… As Blaise had sat down across from the girl at _The Leaking Cauldron,_ intrigued by her mystery and the challenge she posed, he had left his sister completely and utterly at the Death Eaters’ mercy.

If it hadn’t been for this girl, Bianca would still be alive. The hatred burning through his veins was blazing white-hot, raging in his very blood. _I could have saved her._        

Yet he hadn’t, because Elena Clarke had distracted him. And for that she deserved a place on his list.

 


	24. Swimming with Sharks (Part II)

Elena kept her eyes firmly trained to the ground. Her heart was pounding wildly in her chest, her mind buzzing with frantic thoughts. The whole afternoon she had been nervous at the prospect of having to face Malfoy and Zabini again, especially the latter. Over the last few days, after her first talk with Daphne and her cousin’s strange reaction to her story about his rude behaviour, she had often found herself wondering what could have possibly prompted the guy to storm out on her like that.

Zabini had saved her from a werewolf, he had taken care of her in her state of shock, she had even suspected that he was flirting with her, and then, from one second to the next he had apparently decided that he utterly despised her. She had relived her memory of that morning again and again, analyzing every word they had said, every look, every move.

And then realization had hit her. Zabini was a bender. His element must be fire, that was how he had done that fire-thing with his hand that had scared Greyback off. The werewolf had even called him a ‘bender’, but she hadn’t known what that meant at the time. When she had touched his hand at the pub he must have felt her power, that’s why he had wrested his hand away from her touch; Gideon had done the same thing later that day.

Yet she had no idea why Zabini would hate her for being a bender when he was one himself. Besides, his strange behaviour had started earlier. She still remembered the agony she had seen on his face, how his eyes had suddenly seemed to lose focus and see something else... That’s why she had touched him, to make sure he was okay.

And then he had been clutching his arm. His _left_ arm; apparently that detail was important, though she had no idea why. She could have asked Gideon about it, but Daphne had practically begged her not to. And so she had set herself an ultimatum: Today she would confront Zabini and find out what his strange behaviour had been about. Or she would ask Gideon.

In her mind that plan had made perfect sense, but now she wasn’t so sure about it anymore. The look Zabini had just given her had not been hateful, it had been murderous. It had startled her so much that she had lost her already uneasy balance and stumbled on the uneven lawn. If Gideon hadn’t caught her she would have fallen face-first to the ground. Now her cousin put his arm around her to steady her; he was so caring, so considerate.

Yet a voice inside her head was screaming that she should tell him she wanted to leave straight away, that she should take no further step in Zabini’s direction.

 _He wants you dead!_ the voice screamed. She knew it was true with every fibre of her being. _He wants you dead and he will stop at nothing to kill you._

Gideon would try to protect her and then Zabini would kill him too...

Her heart was beating wildly in her chest, pumping adrenaline through her veins. _What do I do?_ she wondered frantically. If she told her cousin she wanted to leave because she was convinced Zabini wanted to murder her, he would certainly think she was crazy. It _was_ crazy. Zabini wouldn’t dare to commit a murder in full view of all of Britannia’s Pureblood nobility, would he? He would have no chance of escape, not with the anti-apparition wards extending four miles around the estate.

 _What if he doesn’t care about escaping?_ There had been something desperate in his gaze, something _mad_... _What the hell is wrong with the guy?_

If she left now, she would be no closer to learning the truth. And then she would go to Hogwarts in a few short weeks, and Zabini would be there, too. She would have to face him eventually, and she felt more confident doing so with Gideon by her side. Hadn’t her cousin told her proudly that he was considered _strong_ among the benders, hadn’t he said that he trained every day? _That has to count for something, hasn’t it?_

She desperately wished she had asked more questions; she had literally no idea what he was capable of. Sure, he had shown her that trick where he had lifted her in the air on a chunk of marble, but what good would that do him in a fight?

Gideon seemed to sense her tension, his arm around her shoulders tightened. They were almost there now, what should she do? Hardly five yards left before they would be there, four yards... _What do I do?_

Her cousin’s arm gave her shoulders a reassuring squeeze. _Merlin, he really thinks I’m a frightened little mouse, doesn’t he?_ she thought, almost snorting out aloud. She _was_ terribly frightened, but not for the reason he probably had in mind.

 _I’m trying to protect you, Gideon,_ she thought desperately, _Zabini is dangerous..._ Three yards.

“Elena!” Daphne called out to her. Involuntarily her head snapped up. Her cousin was beaming brightly at her; next to her Malfoy was wearing an expression of shock. But Elena’s gaze was inevitably drawn to the left, where Zabini was standing – who looked utterly bored.

 _Bored?_ Moments ago he had appeared ready to murder her and now he looked just bored? Elena gaped at him in confusion. His eyes met hers for a second, his gaze betraying nothing but indifference. Then he looked away. And they had arrived.

“Malfoy, Zabini.” Gideon greeted the two younger wizards with curt nods.

Zabini returned his greeting by indicating a bow. “De Villiers.”

She saw Gideon narrowing his eyes at him; he still hadn’t taken his arm away from her shoulders. _He must’ve seen Zabini’s mad look, too,_ she reckoned.

“Guys, this is my cousin: Elena de Villiers,” Daphne declared cheerfully. “Elena, this is Blaise Zabini.”

Zabini gave her a polite smile and extended his hand towards her. “Nice to meet you.” His deep voice was calm and pleasant, betraying no murderous tendencies.

Elena eyed him suspiciously. _Is that a trick?_ Apparently he had decided to pretend their previous encounter had never happened. _Well, two can play that game._ She put on her most charming smile. “Nice to meet you, too,” she told him sweetly, shaking his hand.

For a split-second she saw something menacing flash in his eyes, but then he quickly resumed his indifferent expression, releasing her hand.

“And this is Draco Malfoy,” stated Daphne with a mischievous gleam in her eyes.

Elena turned to face Malfoy, who was still gaping at her in shock. Gleefully she offered him her hand. “Nice to meet you – again.” She flashed him a bright smile.

Malfoy needed a nudge from Daphne to overcome his stupor. “Nice to meet you, too,” he mumbled, a slight blush colouring his cheeks as he shook her hand.

Daphne, who was obviously enjoying his discomfort immensely, chuckled before turning to Elena with a genuine smile. “How are you enjoying the party?”

She paused for a moment, pondering the question. _Oh, I just love it when people are staring and whispering behind my back_ , she thought dryly. _Besides, I have the sneaking suspicion your best friend wants to murder me._ Yes, that would be quite the ice-breaker. She decided to go with a more harmless answer.

“It’s a tad too posh for my taste, but the finger-food they’re serving is truly delicious.”

Gideon chuckled and Daphne broke into melodious laughter, while Malfoy narrowed his eyes in a slightly disparaging manner. Zabini was looking bored again; he took a sip of his drink.

“Where did you get that firewhiskey?” Gideon asked with a longing look at the glass in his hand. “All I was offered so far is champagne, and unlike me you’re not even of age.”

Malfoy smirked. “It’s simply a matter of influence and having the right connections,” he said smugly, raising his own drink in a mock toast.

“Connections?” Gideon perked a brow. “My mother is the hostess of this event,” he stated in a patronizing tone.

Daphne snorted. “See that tent over there? That’s where the bar is.”

“Well in that case, you’ll have to excuse me for a moment,” Gideon said rather pompously before regarding Elena with a questioning look. “Do you want another drink?”

All she managed to do was shake her head; the anxiety that she had been able to quell for a while returned in full force. _How can he leave me alone?_ Maybe he hadn’t seen Zabini’s murderous look after all.

“What about you, Daphne?” Her cousin declined with thanks and Gideon turned to leave.

Elena couldn’t help but stare after him, her heart beating frantically as her eyes were trained on his retreating back.

Daphne chuckled. “Don’t worry, he’ll be back soon.”

Her gaze flicked back to her cousin; she was giving her a knowing look.

“You’ll be fine with us,” Daphne said with an amused grin. “I promise you these two don’t bite.”

“Only if I’m asked to,” drawled Malfoy, suggestively wiggling his pale-blonde eyebrows.

Daphne rolled her eyes, before she bestowed a dazzling smile on him. “But you will be good for now, won’t you Draco?” she asked him sweetly, gracefully batting her long lashes.

The effect on Malfoy was astounding. Immediately his face lost every bit of smugness; he gaped at her cousin with an awestruck expression on his sharp features.

She didn’t appear to be done with him. Taking a step closer to the boy, she put a hand on his arm, leaning in to softly purr in his ear. “Can you do that for me, Draco?” Her voice seemed to caress his name.

Elena almost felt sorry for Malfoy. He was literally trembling under her cousin’s touch, his gaze helplessly lost in her eyes. It was painfully obvious that he had more than just a _thing_ for Daphne; she instantly understood the ‘lost puppy’ comment that Gideon had made earlier.

Zabini chose that moment to remind them all of his presence by audibly clearing his throat. “Seriously, you two make me gag,” he stated casually, his tone betraying mild annoyance.

Abruptly Malfoy flinched away from Daphne; the spell he had been under was broken. His pale cheeks blushed crimson in embarrassment and he took a long drink of his firewhiskey.

Her cousin chuckled softly; she seemed very pleased with the effect she had achieved with Malfoy.

Once again Elena felt a pang of pity for the guy. _Why is Daphne toying with him like that?_ she wondered, curious about her cousin’s blatant flirting. _I thought she was engaged?_

Feeling more and more uncomfortable with the whole situation, she turned to look for Gideon. _How long can it possibly take him to get his blasted firewhiskey?_

She spotted him instantly; his tall stature and fair hair were hard to miss in the crowd. He hadn’t even made it halfway to the bar yet and the reason for that was just laughing flirtatiously about something he had said.

“Oh no, Gideon was lured in by the siren’s call,” stated Daphne dryly, apparently she had followed her gaze.

Zabini whistled. “If it isn’t Isabell Adair in the flesh. _That_ siren is welcome to lure me in anytime,” he said appreciatively.

“She really is a tasty little thing,” Malfoy agreed with him; he seemed to have regained his composure.

Elena could see what the boys were salivating about. The auburn-haired woman had a body to die for and she didn’t seem shy about showing it off. The dress she was wearing left little to the imagination, clinging to every single one of her impressive curves. Though she wasn’t nearly as beautiful as Daphne, she was certainly very attractive.

Her cousin snorted. “I’ll never understand men,” she stated matter-of-factly. “That girl has the brains of a troll; she has trouble stringing two coherent sentences together.”

“Believe me, for what I have in mind I don’t need her to be talkative,” said Zabini haughtily.

Malfoy sniggered. “She would never go for you.”

“She might.” Zabini seemed cocksure. “I can be very persuasive.”

Elena had a pretty good idea just how _persuasive_ he could be if he wanted to. Only too well she remembered his magnetic charisma and how he had unleashed the whole power of his intense gaze upon her. She shivered at the memory; involuntarily her eyes were drawn to his face.

As if he had sensed her staring at him he turned his head to meet her gaze. She found herself unable to look away, his light-blue eyes were every bit as hypnotic as she remembered.

“In the end I always get what I want,” Zabini said quietly. For a split-second he let his mask drop and she could see pure hatred in his eyes. Then he resumed his blasé demeanour and looked away, once again feigning boredom.

With her heart pounding wildly in her chest she anxiously dropped her gaze to the ground, avoiding the curious look that Daphne was giving her. _That was a threat!_ She was certain of it. _I need to get away from him!_

Once more she turned to look for Gideon, but to her utmost despair he was nowhere to be seen. As she frantically searched the crowd for a flash of blonde hair, she heard Daphne groan behind her.

“Brace yourself guys, there’s trouble on the way,” her cousin declared in warning.

Elena had just turned around to see what she meant by that, when another girl who looked to be around their age joined the group. She had dark-brown hair and her face bore an unflattering resemblance to a pug.

“Pansy, how nice of you to join us,” said Daphne, her voice clearly betraying sarcasm.

The girl named Pansy shot her cousin an indignant glare and turned to greet Malfoy with a little too much enthusiasm. Zabini got a curt nod, Elena was blatantly ignored.

“And to what reason do we owe this unexpected pleasure?” Daphne appeared to be annoyed by the other girl’s presence.

Pansy seemed unfazed by her cousin’s open hostility; she wore a very smug expression. “Well, I came to offer my heartfelt congratulations, of course,” she said slyly.

Daphne perked an elegant brow. “Your congratulations?” she asked disparagingly, but Elena thought she saw a hint of worry in her cousin’s look.

“I’m so happy for you, Daphne!” Pansy declared with fake enthusiasm. “You must be so excited!”

“What is she talking about?” demanded Malfoy, his gaze was trained on her cousin whose eyes had widened in shock and horror.

Elena had a sneaking suspicion where this was headed. _The engagement! Pansy must have learned about it,_ she thought, feeling an overwhelming sense of pity for her cousin.

Daphne’s gaze was silently pleading for Pansy to keep her mouth shut.

But the other girl went on mercilessly, obviously enjoying the situation very much. “Haven’t you heard the happy news, Draco?” she asked with glee.

A low whimper escaped Daphne’s lips. In an instant Malfoy had put his arm around her, pulling her close. “What’s wrong?” he asked her softly, his gaze betraying so much genuine concern that Elena had to reconsider her opinion of him.

 _Maybe he’s not so bad after all_ , she mused vaguely, before Zabini startled them all.

With something like a snarl he took a step forward, fixing the pug-nosed girl with a scathing glare.

“That’s enough, Pansy,” he spat furiously. “Tell us what you want or get lost!”

Pansy had instinctively backed away at his outburst, but now a sneer of satisfaction appeared on her homely features. “So you have no idea either, Zabini,” she said gleefully, “oh, this is better than I thought.”

Suddenly Elena was overcome by the strong impulse to wring the neck of this malicious witch. She even took a step forward, but Zabini beat her to it. In a blur too fast for her eyes to follow he had snatched Pansy’s wrists, causing the girl to gasp with pain and shock.

“Listen to me, you slimy little hag,” he snarled at her, “I’ve had enough of your antics for today. Get the hell away from us!” He gave her a hard shove so that she went stumbling backwards.

With one last terrified look at Zabini Pansy whirled around and fled. For a moment they all stood frozen in silence.

Malfoy was the first to recover. “What was that about?” he demanded to know. “Daphne?”

Her cousin had gone as white as a ghost. “I’m so sorry, Draco,” she whispered weakly. “This isn’t how I wanted to tell you...”

“Tell me what?” Worry and curiosity were written all over Malfoy’s angular features.

“I’m so sorry,” repeated Daphne desperately. “I didn’t want to, they made me...” She trailed off, apparently close to tears now.

Once again Elena was overcome with pity. Where had her cheerful and self-confident cousin gone? This girl in front of her was only a shadow of Daphne’s usual sparkling self.

“Just tell us, Daphne,” Zabini said gently.

When Elena looked at him she saw nothing but concern and empathy in his expression. Like Malfoy he really seemed to care about Daphne.

 _It doesn’t matter how much he cares about your cousin_ , a tiny little voice piped up in her head. _He still wants you dead!_ She pushed the thought to the back of her mind. _I can worry about that later._

Daphne sucked in a deep breath, closing her eyes for a second. “I’m to be engaged.”

Zabini gasped. “What?!”

Malfoy seemed to have frozen in place; his arm was still wrapped tightly around her cousin.

With her eyes trained on his face Daphne continued. “My family arranged a match for me,” she explained quietly. “They wanted to wait with the announcement until after my birthday...”

Suddenly Malfoy overcame his stupor, he flinched away from Daphne as if she had burned him, his face betraying shock and hurt.

“Draco...,” Daphne pleaded softly.

Malfoy seemed to be in a complete daze; staggering he backed away a few steps. “I... I have to go...” He turned around and bolted.

Daphne made a sound between a sigh and a sob, staring after him in utter misery.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Zabini demanded to know.

It was as if his words had flipped a switch in her cousin. She whirled around to glare at him. “I wrote you about a dozen letters!” She slapped her hand hard against Zabini’s chest. “But you didn’t even read them!” She slapped him again. “And why? Because you were _busy_...”

A mixture between a laugh and a sob escaped from her lips. “You know what? I don’t even care anymore!” And with that Daphne whirled around and stormed after Malfoy.

 

* * *

 

 

Elena was left alone with Zabini. _How did I get into this situation?_ she wondered dully. She wasn’t even afraid of him anymore; the recent events had dulled her own emotions. _Maybe this is all some crazy dream?_ A very realistic, elaborate dream...

Zabini seemed frozen to the spot, lost in thought.

She stared at him, trying to figure him out. _Why do you hate me so much?_ She wanted to ask him, but couldn’t bring herself to form the words.

All of the sudden Zabini straightened; his gaze caught by someone behind her back. “De Villiers,” he said in a respectful tone, bowing his head.

Elena breathed a sigh of relief. _Gideon! Finally!_ She turned around to face him, determined to drag him home if she had to. _I don’t want to stay here for another minute!_ she thought resolutely.

However, the young man who stepped towards them wasn’t Gideon, but a black-haired version of her cousin. _He must be Henry_ , she guessed.

Gideon’s older brother shared his handsome features; he had the very same indigo-blue eyes. But there was something about the guy that caused her to dislike him immediately. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it; his expression was friendly enough and his voice pleasant when he returned Zabini’s greeting.

“Blaise,” he said amicably, “would you mind if I steal my cousin?”

To her utter surprise Elena was hit by the realisation that she would have rather stayed with Zabini than be alone with Henry de Villiers. _It must be because of all the things Gideon told me about him_ , she thought uneasily.

Zabini shrugged his shoulders. “Not at all,” he told Henry. Then he fixed his eyes upon hers. “I’ll see you at school.” His tone was indifferent, but she knew instinctively that it was a threat. As a cold shiver run down her spine she watched him striding away.

She was startled when Henry suddenly seized her hand. He brought it to his mouth, his lips briefly grazing her knuckles. Once again she shivered.

Her older cousin bestowed a charming smile upon her. “We haven’t had the chance to meet yet,” he said politely. “I’m your cousin Henry.”

Elena nodded. “I know who you are.” To her embarrassment her voice quivered slightly.

Henry didn’t seem to take notice of her discomfort. “I think we should find someplace a little more private to get to know each other, don’t you agree?” He didn’t wait for her answer, but seized her arm and started to lead her towards the house.

Feeling utterly helpless, she had no choice but to go with him. The voice in her head was screaming at her to rip her arm from his grip and run, but where could she go? Her only way out of this horrible place was Gideon and he still was nowhere to be seen...

“My brother seems quite taken with you,” Henry said in a conversational tone. “But then he always had a sentimental streak.”

The people they were passing by stared at her; now and then her cousin greeted someone with a condescending nod. She could have called out for help, but why should anyone bother? She was just the newest addition to the de Villiers family, the _bastard_ , and Henry was well-known and seemingly respected. No one would lift a finger to help her.

Elena desperately wished she had brought her wand. But her fancy dress had nothing to stow it in and so she had opted to leave it at home. Not that it would do her much good anyway. She knew Gideon’s brother was a bender and a powerful one for that matter. She wouldn’t stand a chance against him. _Gideon_ , she thought timidly, _where are you?_

 

* * *

 

When they entered the manor Henry turned to lead her down a flight of stairs and along a corridor that was lit by torches. They were in the basement now and there were no windows. Her uneasy feeling grew stronger. _He’s up to no good_ , she reckoned, but when she tried to free her arm from his grip he didn’t even seem to notice her desperate attempt to break free.

Suddenly he paused and opened a door to reveal a room that looked ominously like a dungeon, its floor and walls entirely made of bare stone.

“This will do nicely, don’t you think?” Henry said amiably before he gave her a shove that left her stumbling into the room. He stepped in after her and closed the door; they were left in complete darkness.

 _He’s going to kill me_ , Elena thought frantically. Despite her racing heartbeat she tried to calm her ragged breathing, attempting to locate him in the dark room. _Where is he?_

Henry answered that question quickly. “Lumos,” he said and his wand lit up. He flicked it to light some lamps on the walls. Seemingly satisfied with the setting, he murmured “Nox” and put the wand away.

 _Perhaps he doesn’t want to kill me_ , Elena mused vaguely, trying to move closer to the door in an inconspicuous manner.

Henry regarded her disdainfully. “You don’t actually believe you can run from me, do you?” he asked coldly, dropping every pretence of false friendliness. Then he raised his hand in front of him, turning his fingers in a commanding gesture.

To her shock Elena found that her feet wouldn’t move anymore, the stone beneath them had come alive and trapped her on the spot.

Looking mildly amused by her desperate attempts to break free, Henry took a step closer. “So, my sweet little cousin, why don’t you start by telling me exactly what prompted your Bloodtraitor-mother to come crawling back to Britannia?”

Enraged by the way he talked about her mother she gave up on struggling and glared at him. “Go to hell!”

Henry tut-tutted. “That’s not very polite.” He perked a brow. “I see Aunt Catherine failed to install proper manners in you. It makes sense, considering the lack of decorum she used to display...”

“Stop talking about my mother!” she yelled furiously.

Henry cocked his head, considering her thoughtfully. “How tactless of me!” he exclaimed all of the sudden. “Talking about her must be so painful for you...” He took another step closer and brought his hand up to her chin, forcing her to meet his piercing gaze. “Tell me, where you there when it happened? Did you see her die?”

There was a sadistic gleam in his eye and a hint of cruelty around his mouth. _He’s enjoying this_ , Elena thought desperately, _I need to get out of here!_ Again she started to struggle against the stone that held her feet. It didn’t budge at all.

“You can stop that,” Henry stated coldly, still holding her chin in his grip. “You’re no bender and without a wand...” He shrugged lazily.

She tried to shove him away, pushing her hands against his chest with every ounce of her strength. Henry didn’t even move an inch; it was as if she was trying to push away a wall.

He laughed with disdain. “Is that all you got?”

 _No!_ A defiant voice called out in her head. Dumbledore had strictly instructed her not to try and use her powers before he had shown her how to do it. But this situation certainly qualified as an emergency. Taking a deep breath she tried to calm her mind, reaching for the source of energy within her. Yet no matter how hard she tried, she found she couldn’t reach it; it was like banging her head against a wall.

 _Looks like my control lessons were successful after all_ , she thought dully. Everything she had managed to do was giving herself a splitting headache.

“Now, let’s come back to my question,” he said with a hint of impatience. “What was your whore of a mother up to?”

Hearing him call her mother a whore was too much for Elena to bear. Hitting him probably wouldn’t even hurt him, she couldn’t use her powers and so she did the one thing that was left to do: She spat him full in the face.

He hissed like a snake, wiping away her spit with the sleeve of his robes. And then, with a movement to fast for her eyes, he slapped her hard across the face.

The force of the blow had her seeing stars for a moment, throwing her backwards. Since her feet were still trapped in stone she couldn’t regain her balance and so she slumped to the ground, landing hard on her backside. Pain shot through her body and her head felt like it was about to explode, blood was trickling from her lip.

As tears were blurring her vision Elena saw him take a step closer, a look of sheer madness on his features.

 _He’s completely crazy_ , she thought desperately, _looks like he’s going to kill me after all..._


	25. Family Matters

_I need to keep an eye on Zabini_ , Gideon decided as he made his way over to the bar. He had always thought that there was something weird about the boy, but the look he had given Elena just now clearly revealed that the guy had taken his oddity to a whole new level. Gideon had no idea what his cousin could possibly have done to kindle such a murderous rage in Zabini.

 _Maybe she ran into him when she had that unfortunate encounter with Malfoy? She really has a knack for getting herself into trouble,_ he mused darkly, resolving to ask Elena about it later.

She had obviously been frightened by Zabini and once more he had felt the overwhelming urge to protect her. It wasn’t just because of the promise he had given to her mother anymore; lately he found that his new-found cousin grew on him, more than he liked to admit to himself.

Before Elena had turned up in his life it had always been him against the rest of the world, his _dear_ family had seen to that. Of course he cared about Daphne and her younger sister Astoria as well, but the two of them were just his little girl cousins who he saw once in a while and liked to joke around with.

Elena was different. Even though he had only known her for a few weeks now, he had shared more of himself with the girl than he ever had with anyone else, not quite sure why he did so. It just seemed natural; he found that he couldn’t fight it. Nor that he wanted to fight it, for that matter.

It was as if he had suddenly been served with a little sister he had never known he wanted or ever thought to ask for, but now that she had arrived she fit in his life like she was meant to be there. It was a curious thought and it frightened him no end. So far every single person he had ever truly cared about had been ripped away from him; he was simply terrified the same thing could happen with Elena.

That was why he constantly found himself worrying about her well-being, and now he apparently had to add Zabini to his ever-growing list of threats. He sighed resignedly. _How I need that firewhiskey right now!_

“Gideon!”

Suddenly his attention was claimed by a female voice calling his name. Floating towards him was Isabell Adair, the youngest daughter of the Duke of Scotland, and the seductive smile she was wearing clearly betrayed the reason for her approach. As usual she was dressed to impress, her clingy dress leaving very little to the imagination. _Not that those curves aren’t worth to be shown off_ , he thought vaguely, his eyes trailing over her body at their own accord.

As she became aware of his appreciating glance, her smile widened in triumph. It wasn’t the first time she cornered him, but so far her advances had not been crowned by success.

“Gideon.” Isabell practically purred his name as she closed in on him. She attempted to kiss his cheek by way of greeting and he had to lean down to her; even with the impressive heels she was wearing the top of her head barely reached his chin. She lingered for a moment longer than necessary, the scent of her flowery perfume filling his nose.

When she finally let go of him, one of her full breasts brushed his arm as if by accident. His mouth went dry; inevitably his gaze was drawn to the sapphire pendant of her necklace that rested strategically well-placed within her plunging neckline.

 _Merlin, it’s been far too long since I got laid_ , he mused uneasily. It wasn’t that he hadn’t gotten any offers; what he seriously lacked was time and opportunity...

Isabell flung her thick auburn hair back over her shoulder, sending another whiff of her overpowering perfume in his direction. She started prattling nonsense; conversation certainly wasn’t her strong suit.

Usually Gideon found no pleasure in an easy conquest and he liked his women with a little more wit and class, yet somehow he found that her shallowness wasn’t bothering him today.

Feigning interest in whatever she was chattering about, he indulged himself in imagining what it would be like if he captured her sensuous mouth with his lips, effectively shutting her up. Then he would kiss his way down her throat, across her collarbone and further down, trailing over that milky skin... And then he would rip off what little of fabric there was to reveal those tempting...

 _Uh-oh._ With some effort he dragged his overactive imagination away from that rather dangerous train of thought. _What’s gotten into you?_ he berated himself. _Are you so desperate that you’re actually considering a shag with the Duke of Scotland’s daughter at your mother’s benefit event?_

The answer was a definite _‘Yes’_ , he was overwhelmed by the sudden need to forget his worries for a few blissful minutes of passion. _Just this one time_ , a reckless voice piped up in his head. _And then you can go back to being responsible._

Isabell gave him a suggestive smile, glancing up at him through her long lashes.

 _See?! She wants it too,_ the voice pointed out. _Where’s the harm in it?_

 _I didn’t come alone_ , he reminded himself. _Elena is going to wonder where I’ve disappeared to..._ He cast a quick glance back to where his cousin was standing with Daphne and her friends. With _Zabini_...

 _I should go back and join her,_ he thought, ashamed by his own thoughtlessness. _That boy is crazy; she must be frightened..._

 _Lately all you ever do is worry about Elena!_ The selfish voice grumbled in his head. _So what if Zabini is glaring at her, there’s nothing he can do in the middle of all these people! And she’s with Daphne; she’ll be fine without you holding her hand all the time!_

Isabell leaned towards him and touched his arm, not so subtly offering him a good look into her décolleté. He groaned inwardly. _Merlin! That woman!_

“Well, Gideon,” purred Isabell, “I’ve heard so much about the famous library of Sinclair Manor, but I’ve never seen it. Would you mind showing me around?” Another seductive smile was bestowed upon him.

He had to stifle a laugh. _The library? Really? I bet she hasn’t touched a book since Hogwarts._ On the other hand though... Here was his opportunity to let off some steam, gift-wrapped and with a bow on top. All he had to do was seize it.

After one last glance to check on Elena he took Isabell’s arm, offering her his most charming smile. “It would be my pleasure,” he told the beaming woman and started to lead her towards the house.

 

* * *

 

On the way they passed by his brother, who greeted him with a salacious grin and gave Isabell a wink. _No need to look so smug, brother,_ Gideon thought angrily, _I know you’ve done her too._ He didn’t particularly like the idea to feast on Henry’s leftovers, but then there weren’t that many young, attractive Pureblood women who hadn’t been with his brother at some point.

Thinking about Henry’s countless amorous adventures put a serious damper on his enthusiasm. As they made their way to the library, Isabell once again prattling about this and that, Gideon found himself reconsidering his spontaneous decision.

 _What am I doing here? This is wrong on so many levels,_ he berated himself. _I shouldn’t have left Elena to fend for herself... What if she runs into Henry?_

The thought was alarming. His brother had made it very clear that he disapproved of their grandfather’s decision to legitimize Elena and Henry wouldn’t shy away from taking his anger out on the girl. Suddenly Gideon had an uneasy feeling.

 _I could just show Isabell the library and be done with it_ , he pondered. _I never promised her anything more..._ She would be annoyed to be snubbed by him again, but she would certainly get over it quickly; despite her flaws Isabell wasn’t an unforgiving person.

However, as soon as they had entered the library, she made it very obvious that she hadn’t come to admire the beautiful architecture or take a look at the extensive collection of rare first editions. With a groan she pushed him against the nearest bookshelf, seizing the front of his robes to pull down his head so that she could capture his lips in a hungry kiss.

Startled by her passion he reacted instinctively and kissed her back, leaning in to deepen the kiss. She moaned into his mouth and once more he was overcome by overwhelming need. He pulled her closer, his hands sliding down her back to cup her butt.

Isabell was already tugging at his shirt and made short work of the buttons. Soon her hands were travelling over his bare skin, caressing his chest and stomach, before she turned her attention to his belt.

In the haze of desire he had a hard time to think straight. His body was certainly eager to oblige her, but unfortunately his mind was elsewhere. The uneasy feeling had grown stronger at the back of his head, pestering him and demanding to be taken seriously.

 _Damn it!_ He had to stop this before things reached the point of no return. With a groan he seized her hands before she could finish her work on his belt. Then he gently pushed her away, part of him hating himself for doing so. He took a deep breath to calm his rapid heartbeat before clearing his throat.

“I’m sorry, Isabell.” His voice was hoarse. “I can’t do this right now.”

She gaped at him, breathless and with slightly swollen lips, an expression of utter disbelief on her flushed face. “Seriously?” she asked him; slowly shock was replaced by anger on her features.

“Seriously?!” she repeated, yelling this time, before she slapped him hard across the face. Without bothering to smooth out her dress or hair Isabell stormed from the room.

 _That went well_ , he thought dryly as he buttoned his shirt back up and adjusted his belt. _Damn it!_ After straightening his hair he left the library and returned to the party to find his cousin.

 

* * *

 

Unfortunately Elena was nowhere to be found. He couldn’t see Daphne either, or Malfoy for that matter. But Zabini was still lurking around, still sipping firewhiskey. Gideon approached him worriedly. “Have you seen my cousin?”

For a moment Zabini was quiet, his startling eyes scrutinizing him thoughtfully, before he replied with another question. “Which one?” His tone was indifferent.

Gideon felt the urge to grab and shake him, but managed to restrain himself with some effort. “Elena.”

He saw something dark flash in Zabini’s eyes at the mention of her name; once more he resolved to keep an eye on the guy in the future.

“She’s with your brother.”

His casual statement turned Gideon’s uneasy feeling into full-blown panic. “Where did they go?” Though he tried to keep his demeanour unfazed, there was some strain evident in his voice.

Zabini took note of that with mild interest. “They went into the Manor,” he condescended to inform him.

Gideon left him where he stood and strode towards the house as quickly as he possibly could without breaking into a run. _I knew something was up!_ he thought frantically. He should have listened to his instinct and never let Elena out of his sight. How was he supposed to find her now?

 _Think, Gideon,_ he urged himself. _Where would Henry take her?_ If his brother had made the effort to lead her away from the crowd he was up to no good. He tried to put himself in Henry’s position. _Where would I go?_ Somewhere he wouldn’t be seen, nor overheard...

 _The basement!_ he decided. No guests would come there and like any earthbender Henry would feel most powerful surrounded by solid stone.

Once he was inside the house Gideon did break into a run, his panic driving him on. _If anything should happen to her because I was busy fooling around..._ He knew he would never be able to forgive himself.

As he reached the basement he used his powers to enhance his sense of hearing. _Where are they?_

Suddenly he heard a noise from one of the old dungeons. Without bothering to mask his approach Gideon pushed the door open.

What he saw was worse than he had imagined. Elena was on the ground, there was blood on her face and Henry stood over her with the expression of a madman.

A white-hot, all-consuming rage took possession of him. He attacked before Henry had any chance to react; with everything he had he slammed his right foot to the floor. The stone beneath him was set into motion by his will, racing towards his brother and knocking him of his feet. Henry went flying through the air and hit the wall with a satisfying thud. Then his body slumped to the ground; blood was streaming from a wound on his head.

Elena screamed. In a flash Gideon was by her side; flicking his fingers to release her feet from the floor. She was shaking like a leaf when she flung herself at him to sob into his chest. He put his arms around her, relieved to see no obvious injuries apart from the cut on her lip.

“Shhh!” he murmured soothingly into her hair. “You’re safe; he won’t hurt you anymore.”

She removed her tear-streaked face from his chest to glance at Henry’s lifeless body. “Did you kill him?” Her voice was filled with horror.

“No!” he hurried to assure her. “I just knocked him out.” _Unfortunately he isn’t that easy to kill._

“Are you sure?” She wasn’t convinced. “There’s so much blood...” Her voice trailed off.

Gideon sighed; sometimes he simply forgot how much there was that she didn’t know yet.

“Trust me,” he said reassuringly, “when he wakes up in a few hours he won’t even have a concussion.”

She frowned at that but seemingly decided to believe him.

“Let me take a look at that nasty cut on your lip.” He took out his wand and cupped her face with his other hand. A simple healing spell and the cut was gone. “Tergeo!” He used his wand to clean the blood from her chin. “Any other injuries?”

Elena shook her head. Her tears had dried and she was wearing a disillusioned expression on her features. “Your brother is entirely mad,” she stated matter-of-factly.

“Yes.” Gideon agreed with her on that. “But I’ll make sure he doesn’t hurt you again.” He was determined to keep that promise, no matter the cost.

A small smile appeared on her face. “Thank you for coming to my rescue.”

“Anytime.” He returned her smile wholeheartedly. “Let’s go home now, shall we?”

She nodded eagerly. “Yes, please.”

Gideon got to his feet and offered her his hand to help her up. Then he frowned and lifted his wand again. “I think we need to brush the dust off your dress.” With a flick of his wand he took care of that, before stowing it away. He offered Elena his arm and led her from the room without another look at his brother.

 

* * *

 

When they crossed the entrance hall their aunt put a stop to their swift escape.

“Gideon!” Demandingly she called his name, descending the main staircase majestically.

Next to him Elena gasped; her fingers were digging into his arm. He knew instantly what had startled her; Evaine bore a striking resemblance to her late sister.

But certainly Catherine had never regarded her daughter with such a disdainful frown. As she stepped towards them Evaine took in the sight of Elena with an expression of utter disgust disfiguring her regal features. She didn’t say a single word, but her demeanour was more scathing than his mother’s cruel words had been.

“Evaine,” he said coldly, claiming her attention.

After one last glare at his cousin she turned her eyes to him. “The Duke wants to see you,” his aunt informed him haughtily. “Her too.” She nodded vaguely in Elena’s general direction.

“Unfortunately we were just about to leave,” he said defiantly.

“He wants to see you,” insisted Evaine. “ _Now_.”

With a sigh Gideon turned to Elena. “Are you up for meeting your grandfather?” he asked, eyeing her doubtfully. To his surprise his cousin was wearing a look of polite indifference on her face.

“Certainly. I’m sure he’ll be just as nice and welcoming as the rest of this charming family,” she said dryly.

He had to suppress a grin. _This girl has some serious backbone_ , he thought, amused by her sense for sarcasm.

Evaine’s eyes had narrowed in disapproval. “He’s upstairs in the study,” she informed him curtly before she turned to leave without so much as wasting another look at her niece.

 

* * *

 

“Are you sure about this?” Gideon asked his cousin as he led her up the winding flight of stairs.

Elena shrugged her shoulders; he knew she wasn’t nearly as confident as she had pretended to be in front of Evaine.

“I have to meet him sooner or later; and he can’t be worse than your brother, right?” she replied nervously.

He sighed. Not that their grandfather would ever harm her physically, his methods were more subtle than that. And far more effective. _I have to warn her_ , he thought uneasily.

“Listen to me,” he told her seriously, “the Duke can be quite... _difficult_. You shouldn’t speak unless he asks you a question and when he looks at you... just meet his gaze and don’t look away. He despises nothing more than weakness.”

Elena frowned about his words. “Doesn’t he sound just _charming_ ,” she muttered under her breath.

Gideon gave her an encouraging look before he turned to knock at the study door. It wasn’t his grandfather’s main basis of operation; that was located at Royceston Manor, the de Villiers’ ancestral seat. But the Duke liked to keep a study here at Sinclair Manor as well, so that he had a place to work whenever he visited.

“Enter!” Richard de Villiers called sternly.

Gideon took a deep breath and opened the door, leading his cousin inside.

“Your Grace.” He greeted their grandfather with a small bow and motioned for Elena to copy his behaviour.

“You may sit,” said the Duke curtly. His eyes were trained on Elena as they complied with his wish and sat down in the chairs in front of his massive desk.

His cousin seemed uncomfortable under his scrutiny, but she heeded Gideon’s advice and met their grandfather’s stare without looking away. Once again he was impressed by her; he knew many grown men who weren’t able to look Richard de Villiers in the eye.

It took a while before the Duke broke the silence. “You have the look of your grandmother,” he stated unexpectedly. His tone was a lot softer than Gideon was used to. “Except for the eyes.”

It wasn’t a question, so Elena just gulped and stayed quiet.

“Today is your birthday, if I am not mistaken?”

His cousin nodded shyly. “Yes.” Her voice was quiet but she managed to keep it steady.

Gideon couldn’t believe his eyes when their grandfather opened the top drawer of his desk and produced a little box, which he pushed across the table towards Elena.

Unsure what to make of this she cast a quick sideways glance at him. When he gave her a small nod she took the box and opened it, revealing a silver charm bracelet.

“Your mother used to wear this when she was your age,” the Duke informed her quietly.

Gideon was more than a little surprised about the turn this meeting had taken. _All he ever gave me for my birthday was a stern lecture on duty and family honour,_ he thought in silent reproach and even with a small hint of jealousy.

“Thank you,” said Elena quietly. “It’s very pretty.”

The Duke acknowledged her thanks with a curt nod. “You are a de Villiers now and I expect you to carry yourself accordingly,” he told her sternly. “Dignity, decency and sense of duty are our prized values that you should always treasure and follow, so that you may contribute to the family legacy...” He launched into a long-winded monologue.

 _Aha_ , Gideon mused, inwardly smirking, _here comes the speech!_

It was basically the same lecture every year, only with minor variations, and it could be easily boiled down to a simple message: _Behave and obey! Or else!_

His cousin listened attentively to their grandfather’s sermon, nodding obediently when it was required. When the Duke was finished Gideon spoke up to inform him about Henry’s attack on Elena.

Richard de Villiers’ expression remained indifferent. “I will speak to him.” That was all he had to say to that and then they were dismissed.

 

* * *

 

 

Elena was quiet until they had taken a seat in one of the carriages waiting to take the guests back to the apparition spot.

“Is he always so stern and aloof?” she asked him with a thoughtful look on her face.

Gideon gave her a wry smile. “What you just saw was him being warm and grandfatherly.”

Elena perked a brow. “Seriously?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Usually he isn’t one to gift you with sentimental birthday presents. And I don’t think I’ve ever heard him mention his late wife before.” He frowned at the thought.

She pondered his words for a moment. “I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but your family is absolutely _awful._ ”

Gideon nodded, giving her a rueful smile. “They’re your family too, you know,” he stated softly.

“These people will never be my family!” Elena burst out, anger flashing in her eyes. Yet her fury vanished as quickly as it had flared up; an expression of deep sadness settled on her features. “My mother was my family,” she said quietly. “Now it’s just me...”

She looked so miserable and forlorn; his heart went out to her.

“I can be your family!” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

Slowly her lips stretched into a smile. “I would like that,” she said softly.

Elena surprised him when she moved closer to him and rested her head against his shoulder. “I always wanted a brother.”

It felt only natural to put his arms around her and gently press his lips to the top of her head.


	26. Faint

It was another sunny Sunday afternoon and once more Hermione was sitting under an apple tree, watching her friends play Quidditch.

Much to her annoyance Fleur had decided to keep her company today. The Frenchwoman was chattering on and on; about the weather (“Ze sun is burning today, I should ‘ave brought my ombrelle!”), about her fiancée (Did you see ‘im throw zat Quaffle? ‘e’s so sportif!”) and about her upcoming wedding (I wish we could ‘old ze ceremony at my parents’ chateau, but I’m afraid we ‘ave to settle for _zees_.” – She gesticulated gracefully and frowned at the Weasleys’ natural garden).

Hermione wished she would just shut up; the constant chatter was starting to give her a headache and made it very difficult to concentrate on her new _Charms_ book. Yesterday they had finally visited _Diagon Alley_ to buy their school books and supplies, so she had a lot of new reading material at her disposal now.

Altogether the shopping trip hadn’t been the fun and delightful experience it used to be in the previous years. A lot of the shops had been closed and everywhere Death Eaters had been glaring from the Ministry’s wanted posters, spreading fear and anxiety among the few shoppers. Nobody had seemed to want to linger only a moment longer than necessary and Mrs Weasley had rushed them through their shopping.

Thanks to Bill they had been able to spare themselves the visit to _Gringotts_ ; so Mr and Mrs Weasley had taken Ginny to _Flourish and Blotts_ to buy their books and Harry, Ron and Hermione had gone to _Madam Malkin’s_ for their new robes, accompanied by Hagrid.

At the seamstress’ shop they had run into Malfoy and his mother. The Slytherin had been his usual _charming_ self; once more he had called her _Mudblood_ by way of greeting. The insult had stung; it always did, even after all these years she had been hearing it now.

Hermione loved her parents dearly and she wouldn’t have traded them for anything in the world, but sometimes she caught herself wishing that they were wizards. Or at least one of them. If she was a Halfblood nobody would ever question her right to wield magic.

She would never admit it, but a large part of her almost compulsive striving to be the best in every class was the desperate need to be better than Malfoy and his snotty Pureblood friends. Somehow Hermione felt she had to prove to them and to herself that she belonged in the wizarding world.

_You’re being silly again_ , she reprimanded herself. _Of course you belong here!_

Cheers from the Quidditch field disturbed her musings; Ginny had scored against Ron. As she celebrated her goal by flying a looping in the air, Fleur shook her silvery head.

“Geenny ees a tomboy,” she stated disapprovingly. “Such a pretty girl, but she should carry ‘erself with more grace and élégance.”

“She’s just having fun!” Hermione said angrily.

“Quidditch is such a brutal sport,” Fleur went on. “Eet’s not for little girls. At Beauxbatons...”

“But Ginny goes to Hogwarts,” Hermione cut in. “There it’s perfectly normal for a girl to play Quidditch. And to have some fun,” she added for good measure.

Fleur gave her a pitiful smile and returned to admiring her fiancée.

With a frown Hermione tried to concentrate on her book. She managed to read a few sentences, but then her thoughts unintentionally returned to Malfoy.

_What did he want at Borgin and Burkes?_ she pondered. By coincidence they had noticed him sneaking into _Nocturn Alley_ yesterday. Hiding under Harry’s invisibility cloak the two boys and her had followed Malfoy to the shady shop, where they had eavesdropped on his conversation with Mr Borgin.

It had seemed as if Malfoy had reserved one of the items displayed in the shop for himself and after he had left Hermione had spontaneously decided to go in and find out about it. Pretending to be a friend of the Slytherin she had tried to learn which item Malfoy had been interested in. Unfortunately Mr Borgin hadn’t been taken in by her charade and had thrown her out.

_Of course he saw right through you_ , she thought irately. _Malfoy has no Mudblood friends and you certainly don’t look like a Pureblood._

“You shouldn’t frown so much, ‘Ermione,” Fleur stated out of the blue. “Eet makes you look so grim!”

Hermione narrowed her eyes at the Frenchwoman. _Why can’t she just shut up?_

“Réellement, you should smile more!” Fleur told her blithely. “And your ‘air... eet’s horrible! I saw you at ze Christmas ball zey ‘eld during ze Triwizard Tournament; you looked so élégant! With a little more effort...”

“I like my hair as it is, thank you very much!” Hermione cut her off. It wasn’t exactly true, but she had learned to come to terms with her bushy mane. _It’s not worth the effort_ , she thought resolutely.

Fleur smiled doubtfully and resumed watching the Quidditch match.

_There are more important things to worry about,_ she decided. Harry was apparently convinced that Malfoy had become a Death Eater. Personally Hermione thought it unlikely; the boy wasn’t even of age yet. Sure, the Slytherin wasn’t stupid, whatever Harry and Ron might think about him, and certainly an able wizard, but he was also childish and impulsive; she couldn’t believe that Voldemort would allow him to join his inner circle.

But Harry had adamantly insisted on his theory. She hated when he was being stubborn like that and wouldn’t listen to reason. He would go on and on about Malfoy as if he thought he could convince her if he just repeated his argument often enough.

_Maybe Harry is only trying to dodge other topics he doesn’t want to talk about_ , Hermione mused, thinking back to the night-time conversation she had had with him a while ago. After that night he had strictly refused to talk about Sirius again, but she had noticed how he made a point of reading everything the papers published about the murder of Catherine de Villiers. _He must still be brooding about the whole ‘Sirius-might-have-a-daughter’ thing,_ she pondered.

At that moment a blood-curdling scream tore her attention back to the present.

“Harry!” Ginny screamed and the others joined in.

About ten yards above the lawn Harry seemed to have collapsed on his broom; slowly he was sliding off sideward and then he was falling, tumbling towards the ground.

“’Arry!” Fleur screeched next to her, breaking Hermione from her shocked stupor.

Pure instinct drove her to draw her wand; without thinking she pointed it at the falling body. “Arresto Momentum!”

A few feet above the ground Harry froze in midair, before his body hit the lawn with a thump.

She ran towards him, her heart beating frantically in her chest. He was laying face-down to the ground; he wasn’t moving.

“Harry!” she whispered desperately as she touched his shoulder, vaguely aware that the Weasleys were landing around them.

Bill took control of the situation. “We have to turn him around, but be careful!”

Slowly they did as he had said. Harry’s eyes were closed, but he seemed to be breathing evenly.

“Get Mum!” Bill ordered and one of the twins turned to run towards the house. The oldest Weasley brother had drawn his wand. “Rennervate!”

Harry’s eyelids started to flutter and then he opened his eyes. “What happened?” he croaked and tried to sit up.

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. _He’s okay!_

Bill put a hand on Harry’s chest to keep him down. “Easy,” he told him, “let’s wait until Mum has checked on you.”

Completely distraught Mrs Weasley came running towards them, her husband and Fred right on her heels. “Harry!” she exclaimed worriedly. “What happened?”

“He fainted and fell of his broom, but Hermione stopped his fall in time,” said Bill to his mother, before he turned to Hermione. “That was quick thinking!” He gave her an appreciating look.

_I didn’t think at all, that was pure reflex_ , she thought dully; her eyes were trained on Harry.

Mrs Weasley was using her wand to check his body for injuries, murmuring incantations under her breath.

“I’m fine,” Harry protested weakly and tried to sit up again.

“You fainted and fell from your broom,” Mrs Weasley said sternly, pushing him down. “You will lie still until I’m sure that you don’t have any broken bones!”

Ron had knelt down next to Harry; underneath his freckles his face was pale from shock. “You gave us quite a scare, man,” he said worriedly. “What happened? Did you have another vision? You know... about _Him_?” He lowered his voice at the last words, but Hermione could understand him perfectly well and so could all the other Weasleys who were still gathered around them.

_Well done, Ronald,_ she thought resignedly.

“A vision?” Mr Weasley enquired promptly. “Does that happen often?”

“No,” Harry said decidedly; his face had assumed a shuttered expression. “I just felt faint and then I must have blackened out... it’s so hot today; I guess I didn’t drink enough.”

His words sounded plausible and Mr Weasley seemed inclined to believe him, but Hermione wasn’t convinced. She knew Harry well enough to notice when he was trying to hide something. _I’m going to find out later_ , she resolved.

Mrs Weasley had finished her examination; with a relieved sigh she enveloped Harry in a motherly embrace. “You scared me, my dear.” Her genuine concern for him was evident in her voice. “Don’t do that again!”

“I - won’t,” he choked out; Mrs Weasley was hugging him so tight that he seemed to have trouble breathing.

“What do you think, Arthur,” Mrs Weasley addressed her husband while still holding onto Harry for dear life, “do we need to inform Dumbledore?”

“No!” Harry almost shouted. With some effort he freed himself from Mrs Weasley’s arms. “I mean – it was nothing,” he said decidedly. “No need to bother Dumbledore with a little sunstroke. He’s got more important things to worry about.”

Mrs Weasley eyed him suspiciously, but her husband was apparently convinced. “Harry’s all right, Molly,” he said reassuringly. “Children have small accidents all the time, you know that. There’s no need to make a fuzz.”

“A fuzz?!” Mrs Weasley put her hands on her hips, glaring at her husband. “He could’ve broken his neck, Arthur!”

“But he didn’t, Mum,” Bill intervened. “We can thank Hermione for that.”

Under all the appreciating gazes everyone was giving her Hermione blushed a little. “Really – it was more a reflex than anything else,” she told them awkwardly.

“How did you do it?” Ginny wanted to know.

“It was the spell Dumbledore used when Harry fainted after the dementors attacked him during that stormy Quidditch match in our third year,” Hermione pointed out.

“Quick thinking!” Bill praised her once more.

“Well done, Granger!” the twins said in unison.

Mrs Weasley took her hands from her hips and put them on both sides of Harry’s face. “Are you sure that you’re all right?” she asked him urgently.

“I’m fine, Mrs Weasley,” he assured her.

“Okay.” She sighed. “Please, be more careful in the future.”

Harry nodded patiently. “Of course, Mrs Weasley.”

She gave him a doubtful smile, but released him. “Dinner’s almost ready,” she announced to the group. “I could use some help to set the table.”

“I’ll ‘elp!” Fleur promptly offered her services.

“That’s very... _helpful_ ,” said Mrs Weasley, looking uncomfortable. “Ginny!” She focused on her daughter. “Why don’t you come and help, too.”

Ginny snorted. “Why does it always have to be me, Mum?”

“Because I asked you!” hissed Mrs Weasley.

“Do as your mother says!” Mr Weasley told his daughter.

In a huff Ginny turned around and stomped towards the house; gracefully Fleur floated after her.

“And you stay out of the sun!” Mrs Weasley told Harry sternly, before her husband put his arm around her and gently led her back inside.

While the others resumed their match, Harry and Hermione settled under the tree.

Harry searched her gaze. “Thank you, Hermione,” he said quietly.

She frowned at him. “You can thank me by telling me the truth.”

“The truth?” he asked a little too innocently.

Hermione fixed him with a stern glare. “Don’t try and tell me you fainted because of the sun! Did you have another vision?”

Harry averted his eyes and stayed silent.

She took that for a ‘yes’ and sighed resignedly. “Why don’t you use Occlumency against him? You should know better – after what happened last year.” As soon as the words had left her mouth she wished she could take them back. “Harry, I didn’t mean to...”

He jumped to his feet, glaring at her furiously. “Why can’t you stop your nagging _for once_?” You know nothing!” And with that he whirled around and stormed away.


	27. Of Runes and Love

After Gideon had apparated them to his parlour, he went straight for the liquor cabinet and poured himself a generous amount of firewhiskey. _Finally!_ he thought triumphantly.

Elena gave his drink a sceptical look. “You drink a lot of that stuff,” she stated matter-of-factly.

“You can blame my awful family for that.” He smirked and raised his glass in a mock toast. “Anything for you?”

She grimaced. “No, thank you. But I would kill for a hot chocolate right now.”

While he called for Lookey and ordered as requested Elena made herself comfortable in one of the armchairs, taking off her shoes with a relieved sigh. “Remind me to ask Daphne how she does it,” she said as she started to massage her feet.

Gideon took a seat across from her, grinning about her efforts. “How she does what? Being charming and annoying at the same time?”

She glared at him. “Walk in heels all the time!”

He laughed, the strain of the afternoon slowly starting to ease off. “I’m sure it’s a matter of practice,” he told her amusedly. Then he turned serious. “But I’ve a bone to pick with her. Why did she leave you alone at the party?”

_You left her alone, too,_ a reproachful little voice piped up in his head; he felt a pang of guilt.

A worried expression settled on Elena’s features and she told him how the truth about Daphne’s engagement had been revealed. “She’s so miserable, Gideon. How can they force her to do that?”

He gave her a rueful smile. “I hate to break it to you, but arranged marriage is quite popular in our world. But there’s no need to worry about Daphne; she’ll have her fiancée wrapped around her little finger in no time at all. The poor boy won’t know what hit him.”

The corners of her mouth twitched a little at that. “Yet she doesn’t love him. How can she ever be happy?” Her tone was still worried.

_She’s clearly quite fond of her new girl cousin_ , Gideon thought. He had no satisfying answer to her question though, and so he shrugged his shoulders. “She might learn how to love him in time.”

They sat in silence for a while, both thinking about Daphne’s deplorable situation. Lookey appeared to serve Elena’s hot chocolate. After the house-elf had left she fixed him with a serious look. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

As he listened attentively she told him the story about her first encounter with Zabini. Gideon was horrified when he heard about how Greyback had cornered her at _Diagon Alley_. _To think that it needed Zabini to save her life...,_ he mused darkly.

When she came to the part how Zabini had yelled at her before storming off, he cut in. “His _left_ arm? Are you sure about that?”

Elena gave him a strained look. “Would you please tell me why that detail is so important?”

He frowned at her. “The Dark Lord’s followers have his mark burnt in their left forearm,” he told her with concern.

She gasped. “Zabini’s a Death Eater?” Her shock was evident in her expression.

“I don’t know that for sure,” said Gideon thoughtfully. “The Dark Lord has never accepted underage recruits before, but Zabini has certain talents that he would appreciate in one of his followers...” A sudden realization hit him. “You touched his hand?” he asked in alarm. “His bare skin?”

She nodded anxiously. “He wrested his hand away from me like you did. He knows about my powers.” Panic flashed in her eyes.

“He only knows you’re a bender,” Gideon hurried to reassure her. “And that you’re freakishly strong,” he qualified. “But he wouldn’t be able to tell your element just by touching you.”

His words calmed her down. “But why does he hate me so much?” A pained expression settled on her features. “What have I done to him?”

Gideon shrugged, pondering her question. “I always thought that Zabini was a little odd,” he told her. “Always quiet, rather aloof, lurking around in the background...” He shook his head, before giving her a pointed look. “He’s dangerous, Elena. If he has taken a dislike to you, you have to be careful around him.”

She raised her brows. “A dislike? He glared at me like he wanted to kill me with his gaze.”

He frowned, recalling the murderous stare Zabini had fixed her with. “Listen to me,” he said sternly. “I don’t want to frighten you, but that boy is powerful. He could kill you with a snap of his fingers. So _please_ , don’t give him the opportunity to hurt you.” His overwhelming concern was evident in his voice. “Please be careful,” he repeated softly.

Elena nodded slowly, looking more thoughtful than scared. “There’s something I wanted to ask you about benders. Your brother...” She trailed off, grimacing.

Once more Gideon was overcome with fury and hatred for Henry. _Someday I’ll make him pay for everything he’s done_ , he vowed silently, like he had done many times before.

Elena had regained her composure. “When Henry attacked me he was... _stronger_ than he should have been. I tried to push him away but it was like pushing a stone wall. And he moved too fast... like a blur.” She frowned at him. “You threw him against the wall and he was badly injured, but you said he would be okay within a few hours... and all of that just because he’s a bender?” She gave him an inquisitive look.

He sighed. _Time for the truth_ , he thought resignedly. “Yes and no,” he answered her question. “Henry is far more than just an earthbender. He decided to become a rune warrior.”

Her eyes narrowed in confusion. “A rune warrior? What’s that supposed to be?”

Gideon gave her a wry smile. “One of the many things we can thank Merlin for. Or _a_ Merlin... whatever.” He frowned, still not quite sold on Dumbledore’s harebrained story.

Elena eyes had widened at his words. “What’s Merlin got to do with it?”

“There’s an old legend about how the first rune warriors came to be,” he pointed out. “It involves the Merlin that was friends with King Arthur.”

“Arthur?” she cut in. “The one from Camelot with the knights of the round table?”

“That’s the one.” Gideon nodded affirmatively. “Even the Muggles tell stories about him. What they don’t know is that most of his knights were benders.”

“Really?” Again he was interrupted by Elena. “I thought they drank from the grail what left them with some kind of supernatural strength... or something like that.”

He smirked at her. “Do you want to hear the story or not?”

She gave him an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I’ve read to many Muggle fantasy novels... I’ll be quiet now.”

Gideon took a sip of his firewhiskey and resumed the story. “Arthur was a strong king and he ruled Britannia for many years, with Merlin by his side. His knights helped him to defeat his enemies and keep the peace.”

Elena was listening carefully know, regarding him thoughtfully.

“But someday he was faced with an enemy he couldn’t defeat,” he went on, “barbarians who outnumbered his army and had the support of Morgan le Fay.”

“Morgan le Fay?” she asked curiously, her eyes widening in surprise.

He gave her another smirk. “I thought you promised to be quiet?”

“Sorry,” she mumbled with a small smile.

Gideon grinned at her and took another sip of his drink before he continued. “King Arthur asked Merlin for help and he came up with an idea; they were outnumbered so he would have to make the available warriors _stronger_.”

He gave her a questioning look. “Do they teach you about runes at Ilvermorny?”

“It’s an elective.” Elena shrugged her shoulders. “I didn’t take it.”

Gideon frowned. “That’s unfortunate. It’s elective at Hogwarts as well, but every bender should study it.” He thought about it for a while. “I’m going to talk to Dumbledore, maybe he can assign you a tutor or something like that.”

She grimaced, seemingly not very keen on having to take up an additional subject. “I assume runes are quite integral to a _rune_ warrior?” She perked a brow, giving him a wry look.

He smirked. “Whatever gave you that idea.” He took a sip of firewhiskey. “Well, you have to remember that the wizards of King Arthur’s time didn’t know the wand; if they weren’t benders they mostly relied on runes to practice magic.”

Elena frowned at that. “I thought runes were some kind of a dead language that you can learn to decipher, like Latin or classical Greek?”

“That’s right, but in contrast to Latin or Greek letters runes have magical properties. Their use is quite difficult though; that’s why they’ve gone out of fashion when the wand came up,” Gideon explained to her. “But back then they were used frequently; you know, to strengthen weapons and armour, to lock things, hide things... stuff like that.”

Now he finally had his cousin’s undivided attention; she was listening with a fascinated expression on her face.

“Merlin was the first to come up with the concept of using runes on people, or rather on Arthur’s knights. He thought that if runes could toughen their weapons and armour, then they could do the same for the men themselves.” He gave her a pointed look. “You know, make them stronger, faster and harder to kill in general.”

Elena was frowning again. “How do you use runes on people? Paint them on their skin?”

Gideon smiled ruefully. “The runes have to be applied a little more _permanently_ than that in order to work.”

“You could tattoo them on.” She grinned; apparently she found the idea funny.

“That’s closer to the truth,” he stated dryly. “But the procedure is a tad more elaborate and also far more unpleasant than getting a tattoo, I would wager.” Even the memory of the agony was enough to make him grit his teeth. Quickly he took another sip of his drink.

Elena was eying him worriedly.

He perked a brow. “Do you want to see the final product?”

Instantly her eyes widened with wonder. “You have runes?”

Gideon nodded and rolled up his sleeve so that she could take a look at his arm. When the first rune came into sight, Elena gasped in shock. He couldn’t blame her, even after all these years the runes were quite appalling to look at.

She had involuntarily reached for his arm as if to touch the runes, but then she flinched away. “It looks like they have been burned in,” she murmured, a horrified expression settling on her features.

“They have been,” Gideon informed her, trying to remain casual. “Burned in and then coloured with a special ink.”

“That sounds excruciatingly painful,” Elena stated worriedly. “Why would you do that to yourself?”

“Mostly because Henry did it. I needed to be able to defend myself against him and so I got my own runes.” He shrugged. “But let’s get back to Merlin. He experimented on the knights and soon learned that runes only worked on benders.”

“What happens if you put them on someone who isn’t a bender?” Elena cut in.

Gideon frowned. “Then you condemn that person to a slow and painful death.”

She gasped. “Why is that?”

He pondered how to best explain it to her, swirling the small rest of firewhiskey around in his glass. “Once applied a rune draws energy from the person it was given to,” he pointed out. “Benders can learn how to deactivate a rune, but non-benders can’t. The rune basically sucks the life right out of them.”

“That’s horrible,” she stated, looking shocked.

Gideon nodded. “Even for a bender it takes a lot of time and practice to learn how to control them, as Merlin had to realize to his sorrow. At first his rune warriors did great, but after a while they all started to lose control over their runes.” He shook his head. “They were driven into madness, started killing innocents, killing each other... In the end they were all dead; and that’s how the great King Arthur was defeated.”

Elena was quiet for a moment; he could almost see the wheels turning in her head. Eventually she cleared her throat. “You don’t appear mad to me, your brother however...” She trailed off.

He sighed. “Believe me; Henry’s state of mind has nothing to do with his runes. He was born like that.” It was a terrible thing to say, but true nonetheless.

“Over the centuries benders have experimented on runes and learned that it’s best to apply them gradually,” he explained to her. “You start with one and work yourself up from there; so you can grow into your runes as you learn to master your element.”

Elena regarded him thoughtfully. “How many runes do you have?”

“Quite a few.” He smirked. “I’ve never counted.”

“And what can you do with them?” Curiosity was evident in her expression.

“Let’s see,” Gideon said, rolling up his other sleeve. “There’s one I can demonstrate easily.” He showed her a small rune on his right forearm. “Watch carefully.”

He concentrated and the rune started to glow. Then he heard Elena gasp; though nothing had changed for him he knew he had disappeared for her eyes. He deactivated the rune and Elena gasped again, gaping at him in amazement. “An invisibility rune,” he pointed out.

Suddenly he saw realization flash in her eyes. “That’s how you hid us from the Death Eaters, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” He nodded. “With a little effort I can project the glamour to hide someone else with me. It’s easier if that person isn’t wriggling about like an eel.” He gave her a pointed look.

Elena smiled ruefully. “And they didn’t seem to hear us,” she thought aloud. “Was that due to a rune as well?”

Gideon nodded again. “Silence rune. I also have runes for speed, strength and a few which can enhance my senses; healing runes and some to protect me from minor curses,” he detailed.

“That sounds practical,” she stated dryly.

“It certainly is,” he agreed. “But it has limits, of course,” he qualified. “Like I said, runes draw on energy once activated. As soon as my strength is used up the runes don’t help me at all.”

“I see.” Elena nodded slowly. “That means the stronger a bender you are, the more you have to gain from the runes, right?”

“Exactly,” affirmed Gideon. “And that’s also why only the stronger benders are given the chance to become rune warriors; it only makes sense if you have some strength to spare.”

“Could I get runes?” she asked him curiously.

He had expected the question and dreaded it as well. “I don’t know, Elena,” he said uneasily. “You’re certainly strong enough, but you started your training so late... I don’t think it would be a good idea.”

She didn’t seem to be disappointed by his words, but rather relieved. “I don’t know whether I could bear the pain,” she stated soberly. “Besides, they don’t look that good.” She gave him an impish grin.

Gideon smirked. “Actually most women find them quite attractive. You know, the appeal of mystery and darkness...” He winked at her.

Elena chuckled. “Like that redhead earlier?” she enquired with a smirk. “She did seem pretty determined...”

He snorted. “Believe me, she was very, _very_ determined...” He trailed off, caught up in the memory.

His expression must have revealed too much, for Elena looked scandalized. “You didn’t!” she exclaimed. “At the party?”

“No!” he stated hurriedly. “Not really...”

She perked a brow.

“I didn’t go through with it, okay?” Somehow he didn’t feel comfortable discussing this with her. With Daphne in her place he would have found no fault in doing so, but Elena seemed more innocent in some way.

“Didn’t you like her?” she asked him curiously.

_For Merlin’s sake!_ Gideon sighed resignedly. “I had an uneasy feeling, so I brushed her off and came looking for you,” he admitted reluctantly.

“Oh,” said Elena, “I’m glad you did.” She gave him a grateful smile. But then she smirked again. “And I’m very touched by your _sacrifice_.”

He groaned. _Maybe she’s not that innocent after all._

His cousin eyed him thoughtfully. “Why don’t you have a girlfriend?” she asked all of the sudden.

He had just been about to take a sip of his drink and now he choked on firewhiskey.

“Seriously,” Elena insisted. “You’re handsome, you’re smart and funny, and you can even be charming if you want to. And on top of that you’re rich and famous; girls must be lining up to be with you.”

Gideon overcame his coughing fit and narrowed his eyes at her. “So what if they are?” he replied grimly. “Most of these women are after my name and my money, or worse: after my brother.”

“What woman in her right mind would want _Henry_?” She grimaced at his brother’s name. “And if they’re stupid enough to do so, why go after you?”

“Henry is the heir of two titles; that creates a certain appeal,” he pointed out. “If a hopeful young Pureblood witch wants to catch his attention, the best thing she can do is date me. My brother always enjoyed stealing my toys.” He couldn’t keep the bitterness from his voice. It had happened a few times in the past; now he knew the signs. Since he preferred to change dates quickly it didn’t really matter anyway.

Elena was regarding him thoughtfully. “Did your brother ever steal someone who you truly loved?”

Gideon felt himself tense; this conversation was getting more uncomfortable by the minute. Part of him wanted to brush her off with a dry remark, but another part wanted to share with her once more.

She noticed his discomfort. “I didn’t mean to be nosy,” she said quickly. “You don’t have to tell me.”

“It’s fine,” he told her dryly. “I’m simply not used to having a little sister who keeps quizzing me about my _feelings_.

When he called her a sister Elena broke into a wide smile; he couldn’t help himself, he had to return it. _When did I get so sentimental_? he pondered briefly, before he decided to tell her the tragic story about his first and only long-term relationship.

“Her name was Olivia,” he began hesitantly. “I started dating her in my last year at Hogwarts; we were together for a few months and I fancied myself in love with her.”

Gideon paused to take a sip of his drink; Elena was listening patiently. He sighed and continued. “After we had graduated I invited her over to my house for a couple of days and there she met my _dear_ brother.” He gritted his teeth; even after all this time the memory was painful. “It took Henry only a few days to convince her that she was madly in love with him, so she dumped me and started dating him.”

Elena shook her head. “That’s awful!” she stated with dismay.

He frowned. “Unfortunately that’s not quite the end of the story. Henry never cared about the girl; all he wanted was to hurt me.” Closing his eyes for a second he braced himself for his next words. “A few days later Olivia had a terrible accident; she fell into an old well and it took us hours to find her. When we got her to the healers it was too late; they saved her life but they couldn’t save her spine.”

Clearly horrified Elena pressed her hands to her mouth.

Gideon sucked in a breath; he was sure that his pain was showing in his expression. “She was paralysed from the waist down; my brother dumped her and some months later she killed herself.”

Elena gasped. “That horrible! I’m so sorry, Gideon.” She reached over to squeeze his hand.

He gulped. “It wasn’t an accident,” he said hoarsely.

“What?” Her brows shot up.

“Olivia didn’t fell into that well,” he stated quietly. “Henry pushed her, he told me himself.”

His revelation rendered her speechless for a moment. When she spoke up, her eyes were flashing with fury. “He’s a monster!” she exclaimed. “Why isn’t he in prison?”

Gideon snorted. “Henry is grandfather’s heir, Elena,” he pointed out. “The Duke didn’t want the family honour tarnished by that _trifle_ , as he called it. He made sure the whole story was swept under the carpet.”

Disbelief and disgust mingled on her features. “I can’t belief it,” she murmured faintly.

He gave her a strained smile. “Welcome to my world,” he said dryly.

They sat in silence for a while, both lost in thought. Eventually Gideon broke the quiet by clearing his throat. “So,” he said, deliberately casual, “what about you?”

“Huh?” Elena asked, torn from her musings.

He perked a brow. “Have you ever been in love?” Partly he asked because he was looking for a lighter topic, but he was also curious.

To his amusement she blushed furiously.

“Aha!” He smirked at her. “I see there’s a story worth telling.”

“I – I can’t,” she stuttered. “It’s embarrassing!”

“Come on,” he said to her, “I just told you my own tragic sob story, it can’t be worse than that!”

Elena hid her face behind her hands. “It’s still bad enough!” she mumbled through her fingers.

Deeply amused by her antics Gideon took a sip of his drink. “I’m waiting!” he stated challengingly.

She groaned and took her hands away from her face. “His name was Jason and he was an arse.”

He smirked. “I hate to tell you this, but most men are, at least from time to time.” He winked at her.

Elena glared at him. “He made a bet with his friends that he would... that he would get me to sleep with him...” She blushed even more.

_I knew she was more innocent than Daphne_ , Gideon thought, feeling slightly uncomfortable again.

She gulped, clearly pained by the memory. “He made me fall in love with him, but then I overheard him talking... so I dumped him. I felt so stupid!”

Gideon eyed her with pity. He instinctively hated that boy for hurting her, but he couldn’t exactly blame him. The same thing was practiced in Slytherin house like some kind of sport, and he had participated once or twice...

Elena was frowning now, looking more angry than embarrassed. “A few weeks later he and his friends cornered me and he – he...” She trailed off.

Instantly he was overcome with a raging fury. _If that boy dared to touch her..._ He clenched his fists. “What did he do to you?” he hissed through his teeth. “Did he... _force himself on you_?”

“No!” Elena said quickly, seemingly startled by his fierce reaction. “I mean, he wanted to, but I stopped him.” Grim satisfaction was evident on her features.

Gideon relaxed his hands. _Thank Merlin!_ he thought in relief. Yet something about her expression made him wonder; he perked a brow. “How exactly did you stop him?”

Now she looked somewhat guilty. “I – I burned him,” she admitted, sheepishly dropping her gaze to the floor. “They had to send him to the hospital to treat his wounds.”

Gideon smirked. “He deserved it.”

His gleeful tone caused her to look up at him. “It was horrible!” she exclaimed. “I just wanted to scare him off, but then he was burning and his friends were burning... the whole corridor was a blazing inferno!”

He understood immediately. “You used your powers,” he stated matter-of-factly.

“Yes.” She nodded bashfully. “That’s why they kicked me out of Ilvermorny.”

Gideon frowned at that. “They expelled you?”

“Not exactly,” said Elena. “But the headmistress kindly asked Mum to find another school for me.”

He regarded her thoughtfully. “Do you miss it?” He asked softly. “Ilvermorny and your friends?”

Sadness settled on her features. “I didn’t have any friends at Ilvermorny,” she said quietly, avoiding his gaze. “I had those weird magical outbursts; they thought I was a freak...” She trailed off, looking miserable.

Overwhelming pity caused him to reach over and take her hand. “Listen to me, Elena; you’re not a freak!”

She raised her eyes to meet his gaze.

“You’ve learned control, there won’t be any further outbursts,” he assured her. “At Hogwarts nobody is taken for a freak just because one is a bender. You’ll love it there!”

Elena gulped, giving him a teary-eyed smile. “That’s what Mum said, too.”

Gideon nodded. “Believe me; Hogwarts is amazing.”


	28. September 1st

Ever since he had turned eleven Blaise had dreaded September 1st. In his mind that date was inseparably associated with parting and separation from his twin. Leaving Bianca had been almost physically painful; he had felt like he was leaving a part of himself behind. It had always taken him a few days before he got used to her absence, a few days before he could be happy about being back at Hogwarts and surrounded by his friends.

Yet this year everything was different. Since Bianca’s death every day felt like September 1st; and now that the actual date had arrived Blaise was almost relieved. Today marked the first step on his way to revenge; today he would start to put his plan into action. His first task was simple: _Find out what Malfoy is up to._

Thanks to Daphne’s shocking revelation at the St Mungo’s benefit event he hadn’t been able to sound Draco out as planned; after Malfoy had learned about Daphne’s pending engagement he had left the party and gone straight home. Ever since that day Blaise hadn’t been able to get a hold of him; Draco hadn’t reacted to any of his letters and whenever he had tried to floo one of the Malfoys’ house-elves had informed him that _Master Draco_ wasn’t available at the moment.

Blaise hadn’t been able to reach Daphne either. The first thing he had done after returning home from the party had been tackling the stack of unopened letters on his desk and their content had left him with more than just a slightly guilty conscience. Daphne’s letters had been a cry for help, the tone becoming more and more desperate from one to the other. She had been practically begging for his support and he hadn’t been there for her because he had been so wrapped up in his own drama.

Of course there had been a good reason for his neglectful behaviour, but Daphne didn’t know that; and since Blaise wasn’t planning on telling her the truth anytime soon, she must have thought him a very lousy best friend.

He had tried to make it up to her, writing and flooing her a few times; but just like Draco she had refused to see him. It was another reason to look forward to today; at Hogwarts his two best friends wouldn’t be able to avoid him any longer.

Standing in the middle of thick plumes of steam that the Hogwarts Express was blowing over the  crowd, Blaise was keeping a lookout for them; so far in vain. Instead he saw Potter; the Gryffindor was accompanied by Granger, some red-headed Weasleys and two bearded, grim-looking men whom he took for aurors.

_Looks like the Chosen One has his own security detail now_ , Blaise thought, mildly amused. _As if that’s going to help him when the Dark Lord comes for him._

Even though the aurors seemed to be on high alert and never took their hands off their wands, he had seen immediately that they were no rune warriors. _Most likely not even benders_ , he decided, surveying the way the two men were moving. If the Dark Lord should suddenly jump forth from behind a column all those two would be able to do was grab Potter and disapparate. _Well, if that’s what little Potty needs to feel safe_ , Blaise thought, smirking contemptuously.

Then he finally spotted Daphne; she had arrived in the company of her father and her younger sister. He took a deep breath and put on his most charming smile before he went over to greet them.

“Blaise!” Astoria exclaimed happily and threw her arms around him. Daphne’s sister was a tiny doll of a girl; she could have still passed for a first year, if one didn’t look closely enough. Blaise returned her hug cautiously; as usual he was overcome by the irrational worry that she might break in his grip if he wasn’t careful with her.

“Hi Tori,” he said when she stepped back to beam brightly at him. “Long time no see.”

“We haven’t seen you all summer,” Mr Greengrass stated jovially as he shook his hand. “Where have you been?”

It was a reasonable question; in previous summers Blaise had always been in and out of the Greengrass’ manor whenever he wasn’t spending time with Bianca.

Daphne snorted. “He was _busy_ ,” she informed her father, while bestowing an icy smile upon Blaise. His hope for a quick reconciliation vanished into thin air. The very cool greeting caused Mr Greengrass and Astoria to gape at them in astonishment.

He tried to remain unfazed by her hostile demeanour. “Can I talk to you for a moment?” He gave Daphne a pleading look.

“Sure,” she replied curtly before following him out of earshot.

Blaise met her distant gaze with an apologetic expression. “You have every right to be mad at me,” he told her seriously. “You needed me and I wasn’t there.”

Hurt flashed in her eyes, breaking through the indifferent mask she had been wearing. “I’ve always been there for you, Blaise,” she said accusingly. “Always! Whenever your mother brought another stepfather along, whenever you had to go to another funeral! I helped you through the whole thing with Bianca!”

Blaise flinched at his sister’s name. It took him every ounce of will power not to break down there and then. Daphne fixed him with a scathing glare, waiting for his defence.

He gulped, trying hard not to let his pain show. “I know,” he managed to say; his voice sounded like a stranger talking. “I’m very sorry. Please, let me try and make it up to you.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “That’s all you have to say?”

_That’s all I can tell you_ , Blaise thought desperately. He gave her another pleading look. “What do you want me to do? Beg on my knees?” By now he was willing to do even that. _Whatever it takes for her to forgive me._ This year would be hard enough as it was; he couldn’t even begin to imagine how he would get through it without his best friend by his side.

“Daphne!”

All of the sudden her attention was claimed by someone else. When Blaise saw who it was, he gritted his teeth, barely able to suppress a growl.

“Elena! Gideon!” Suddenly Daphne was wearing a bright smile. She turned away from him to greet both her cousins with big hugs.

He couldn’t help but glare at Elena de Villiers. _Seriously, the timing of that girl!_ First she had kept him from saving Bianca and now she put a stop on his reconciliation with Daphne.

When she saw him glaring at her the girl dropped her gaze. “Hello Zabini,” she said quietly, addressing his feet.

“Zabini.” Gideon de Villiers’ greeting was also a warning. Protectively he put his arm around his cousin’s shoulders, like he had done at the benefit event.

_She doesn’t need anyone to protect her!_ Blaise thought irately. With some effort he managed to hide his fury behind a mask of indifference. “Hello.” He gave both of them a curt nod.

Daphne was ignoring him studiously; she beamed at her new girl cousin. “Are you excited?”

“Sure.” The girl returned her smile rather uncertainly. “A little nervous though.”

“No need for that!” Daphne stated blithely. “I’m sure you’ll be sorted into Slytherin!”

Blaise stifled a groan of frustration. _For Merlin’s sake!_ He would rather move in with Snape than have her live next door.

“I’m not so sure about that.” The girl shook her head thoughtfully. “My mother was in Gryffindor, you know.”

“Right.” Daphne frowned. “I forgot about that.”

“It doesn’t matter which house you’re sorted in,” de Villiers declared decidedly. Then he smirked. “Just make sure you don’t end up in Hufflepuff. In that case I would have no choice but to deny any relation with you.” He winked at the girl and she stuck her tongue out at him.

Daphne chuckled about their banter. In her cousins’ company she seemed so happy, so carefree; she seemed to have forgotten that he was still there, still waiting for her to forgive him.

_She didn’t forget you, she’s ignoring you_ , a mocking voice pointed out in his head. Blaise felt inclined to agree; it was obvious by the way she was avoiding to look in his direction. _As if she’s hoping I’m going to leave if she just keeps pretending that I’m not here_ , he thought angrily. Well, he wouldn’t do her that favour.

He cleared his throat to remind them all of his continued existence. “Have you heard from Draco?” he asked Daphne urgently.

She flinched as if he had hit her. Part of him was ashamed, but another part felt grim satisfaction. And then he was also curious. _What has Draco been up to the last few weeks?_

Daphne quickly regained her composure. “No. Have you?” Her tone was a tad too casual and she was still refusing to meet his gaze.

“No,” replied Blaise, now mildly concerned. _If he hasn’t seen her and he hasn’t seen me either; what has he done the whole time?_

“I can tell you something about Malfoy,” de Villiers piped up. “He’s apparently lost his mind. And his good taste as well.”

As Daphne and Blaise eyed him questioningly, the other girl put a hand on his arm as if to stop him from sharing his news.

De Villiers looked at her. “What? It’s not a secret.”

“What’s not a secret?” Daphne demanded to know.

An expression of utter disgust disfigured de Villiers’ aristocratic features. “We just saw him snogging Parkinson!”

Blaise sucked in a breath. “What?!”

Automatically his gaze was drawn to Daphne; she had gone as pale as a ghost. Instinct drove him to reach out and touch her arm for comfort, but she flinched away from him. Resignedly he let his hand drop back to his side.

“Yeah, it was quite nauseating,” de Villiers went on, seemingly oblivious to the effect his words had on Daphne.

At that moment the train let out a warning whistle; apparently the Hogwarts Express was about to depart.

De Villiers hurried to say goodbye to his cousins; first he gave a quick hug to Daphne, who seemed to be in some kind of daze. Then he pulled the other girl close, holding onto her a little longer to whisper something in her ear. She nodded and de Villiers briefly pressed his lips to her forehead.

Blaise snorted quietly. _Never thought he was that sentimental._

As if he had read his thoughts the older guy turned to fix him with a threatening stare. Blaise glared back at him. _I’m not afraid of you!_

De Villiers narrowed his eyes at him; then he turned back to his cousins. “You really need to get on the train now or it’s going to leave without you.”

Daphne didn’t appear to have heard him; she stood rooted to the spot, staring into space. Gently the other girl touched her arm. “Daphne, we need to go.”

Her cousin’s touch broke Daphne from her stupor. “Yes.” She nodded mechanically. “Let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

Since they were among the last students to board the train most compartments were already full. In search of free seats Daphne went on ahead, closely followed by her blasted cousin. Blaise, determined to resume his interrupted conversation with Daphne, was forced to trail behind.

When she finally found an empty compartment, Daphne pushed the door open and stepped aside to let her cousin enter. Then she turned to face him with a hostile expression. “Why don’t you go and sit with Malfoy and his _girlfriend_.” Her tone was positively freezing.

“Please, Daphne!” Once more Blaise found himself pleading. “Let me...”

“Just go, Zabini!” she cut him off. “I don’t want to see you right now.” And with that his best friend turned away from him and slammed the door in his face.

For a moment he stood frozen. In all the years of their friendship Daphne had never treated him that hostile. It just wasn’t in her nature; he would have never thought her capable of such unforgiving coldness. Through the window set in the compartment door he could see her talking animatedly with her damned cousin; both girls were studiously avoiding to look in his direction.

Blaise clenched his fists; white-hot fury was boiling in his stomach. _It’s all her fault!_ He glared daggers at Elena de Villiers. _First I lost Bianca because of her and now she’s stealing my best friend as well!_

A maddening rage came over him; he had to fight the overwhelming urge to storm into the compartment and kill her right there on the spot. He wouldn’t even use his magic, he felt ready to strangle her with his bare hands.

_Do that and you lose Daphne forever_. The voice of reason caused his blazing fury to crumble. _Not here, not today_ , he urged himself. He took a deep breath and forced his hands to relax. Then he turned and went to search for Malfoy.

 

* * *

 

Blaise was in hell. Unlike Daphne his other best friend hadn’t turned him away; on the contrary. Draco had appeared genuinely happy to see him. However, the privilege of Malfoy’s company came at a high price; he had to bear the infuriating presence of Pansy Parkinson.

_De Villiers was right_ , he thought resignedly. _Draco’s actually lost his bloody mind._

At first he had tried to simply ignore Pansy and get into conversation with Draco, pretending that nothing was amiss. But the way the girl was currently wrapped around his friend made it sort of difficult to overlook her. On top of that Pansy had apparently decided that every minute not spent kissing Malfoy was a wasted minute, what made any kind of serious talk impossible.

Attempting conversation with Crabbe was about as stimulating as trying to talk to the wall and since the sight of Draco and Pansy snogging was truly sickening, Blaise had grabbed the first book he could find in his trunk and hid behind it. He could still _hear_ them though; the nauseating noises coming from the couple were only partially drowned out by Goyle’s loud snoring.

Therefore he decided to take his mind of his unpleasant surroundings by busying himself with going over his revenge plans once more. Asking Draco about his task for the Dark Lord would have to wait until he could lure him away from Parkinson and so Blaise focused on his other problem: _Elena de Villiers_.

The girl had irrevocably made her way onto his list. She might not have caused his sister’s death per se, but she had kept him from saving Bianca and in his opinion that left her just as guilty as Greyback and his ragged band of Death Eaters. She had to pay, of that much he was certain.

Unfortunately he lacked a brilliant idea how to make it happen. He couldn’t go ahead and straight out _murder_ another student; that would earn him expulsion from Hogwarts and a one way ticket to Azkaban. A reputation for being a cold-blooded killer would probably help him to catch the Dark Lord’s attention, but if Blaise should dare to harm the girl that would inevitably cause her cousin to come after him.

For whatever reason Gideon de Villiers was infatuated with her and that guy wasn’t a person to be trifled with. Blaise wasn’t entirely sure whether he was strong enough to defeat the earthbender in a duel, but even if he should manage to do just that he would have to face the wrath of the powerful de Villiers family afterwards. No, there had to be a more elegant solution.

_Maybe... if she met an unfortunate accident..._ After all they were on their way to Hogwarts, and there accidents happened all the time.

For a while Blaise indulged in imagining the girl getting mauled by the giant squid or trampled by a horde of bolting hippogriffs. Yet even if he should succeed in staging such an accident without getting caught straightaway, de Villiers would probably still suspect him for being responsible.

_I never should’ve shown my hatred that obviously,_ Blaise berated himself. _That was plain stupid._

However, it wasn’t like he had planned on doing it. Seeing the girl at the benefit event had simply taken him by surprise. He had never expected the dishevelled little American he had met at _The Leaking Cauldron_ to show up at a fancy Pureblood party.

Somehow she had managed to deceive him, pretending to be a stranger who had never heard of Malfoys or de Villiers, or even element benders for that matter. And then she had posed as a damsel in distress, prompting him to _save_ her from the werewolf.

_What the hell is her game?_ Blaise pondered that question for the umpteenth time. After he had made a fool of himself by playing the hero the girl had let him feel her power back at the pub. _Why? To tease me? Taunt me?_

He didn’t have the slightest clue; all he knew was that she was _strong_ , and freakishly so. What made him wonder why de Villiers was always fussing about her like a crazy mother hen. _Why would she need his protection at all?_

Blaise had no answer to that. _Maybe he doesn’t know about her powers; maybe she’s pretending with him like she pretended with me_ , he mused vaguely. But that was just a guess, what he needed were solid facts.

Involuntarily he let out a groan of frustration. _How am I supposed to find out the truth?_

With a sickening sucking sound Draco broke away from Pansy’s lips. “That must be some exceptionally awful book, Blaise,” he stated casually, as if he was just resuming a conversation and hadn’t been snogging his girlfriend for the last ten minutes straight. “You’re frowning and groaning the whole time. What are you reading?”

“Uh...” Since Blaise didn’t have a clue he had to flip the cover to take a look at the title. “ _Flesh-Eating Trees of the World.”_

Draco perked a brow. “Seriously?”

“I thought only the Mudblood was reading school books before the term has even started,” Pansy said snidely.

Blaise frowned at her. “Well Pansy, some of us take their education a tad more seriously than others. It’s called _preparation_ ; maybe you should try that sometime.”

She shot him a dark glare; her O.W.L. results had been abysmal. “I haven’t seen your other half today,” she stated in a devious tone. “How is Daphne?”

It took him some effort to refrain from gritting his teeth. “She’s fine.”

“Where is she?” Pansy kept digging. “I thought you two were inseparable.”

Blaise had to fight the sudden urge to wring her neck. “She’s with her cousin.” Somehow he managed to keep his voice neutral.

“The bastard?” asked Pansy disdainfully. “Why would she want to have anything to do with that girl?”

For the first time in his life he found himself agreeing with something uttered by Pansy Parkinson. He frowned at that shocking realization. “I don’t know.”

“The girl is not exactly a bastard anymore,” Draco piped up unexpectedly.

His girlfriend narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “She looks like Daphne,” she stated, trying hard to appear casual. “Not quite as beautiful, but pretty enough. Don’t you agree, Blaise?” From the corner of her eye she carefully monitored Draco’s reaction.

“Not at all,” Blaise said gruffly. “Too plain.” _Back then you thought she was beautiful_ , an annoying little voice piped up in his head. He tried his best to ignore it.

“Really?” Draco raised his brows. “I thought you liked the fiery ones, Blaise. And that one has some temper, I’ll give her that.”

Pansy looked rather unhappy about her boyfriend’s words.

“I don’t see it.” Somehow Blaise felt the need to categorically deny any attraction he might have felt towards the girl at some point. He regarded Draco innocently. “Are you referring to the fact that she slapped you in the face?”

To his amusement Malfoy blushed.

“She slapped you?” Pansy’s question came out rather shrill.

“It was a misunderstanding.” Draco blushed even more. “I took her for Daphne...”

Pansy’s screech was ear-piercing. “What did you do to make her slap you?”

“Huh?” Crabbe looked up from his comic with a dumbfounded expression on his fleshy face; even Goyle was startled from his sleep with a grunt.

“I – uh... nothing!” Apparently Draco wasn’t aware that he was digging his own grave.

His girlfriend was glaring at him now. “I asked you what you did with her!” She emphasized her demand by poking her forefinger hard against his chest.

Silently absorbing the drama unfolding in front of him, Blaise didn’t realize that someone had entered the compartment until he felt a hand on his arm. Instinctively he flinched away from the unexpected touch. “Wha- oh, hi Tori.”

“Sorry to interrupt,” Daphne’s little sister chirped happily, “but the new Professor asked me to give you this.” She handed him a roll of parchment that was tied up with a purple bow.

Curiously Blaise opened it; apparently a certain _Professor Slughorn_ was inviting him for lunch. Somewhat relieved he got up from his seat. “I’ve got to go.” Whatever the professor might want him for, it couldn’t be worse than Draco’s relationship drama.

 

* * *

 

As soon as he had closed the door behind them, Astoria chuckled. “Looks like there’s trouble in paradise already,” she said gleefully.

Blaise snorted. “I’ve no idea what’s gotten into him, believe me.”

“He’s on the rebound,” she stated matter-of-factly. “Who would’ve thought that Malfoy actually has a heart.”

He frowned at her. “When did you get so wise?”

“No need to be wise for that; it’s obvious,” Astoria told him, regarding him with a thoughtful expression. “Are you on the rebound too?”

“What?” Blaise raised his brows, taken aback by the question.

“You haven’t been around all summer,” she said with a hint of reproach. “Daphne’s hurting, Blaise. Why aren’t you with her?”

“She doesn’t want to see me, Tori.” He couldn’t keep the pain from his voice. “I messed up.”

“Then go and apologize!” Astoria demanded sternly.

“Trust me, I’ve tried.” He averted his eyes.

She poked her finger against his stomach, prompting him to meet her gaze. “Then try again! She needs you.”

“I will; I promise.” Blaise forced a strained smile. “But first I have to go and see what that Professor wants.”

 

* * *

 

As it turned out Professor Slughorn wasn’t interested in him, but in his mother, or rather in the piles of gold she had accumulated over the course of her seven marriages.

“And just recently she got married to Philippe Moraux, the famous French politician, if I am not mistaken?”

Blaise nodded, feigning patience. By now he was wishing that he had stayed with Draco and Pansy. Being questioned about every stepfather he ever had was pure torture, and it certainly wasn’t helping that Potter sat across from him and was eying him with a very self-righteous expression.

“Well, let us hope they will be blessed with a long and happy marriage,” Slughorn declared pompously.

Potter snorted quietly and Blaise shot him a glare. _Not everyone can have a martyr for a mother!_ he thought irately. He had no illusions; if the Dark Lord had come for him, his mother would have handed him over with a smile and a curtsy.

Slughorn was apparently finished with him and turned to question Longbottom next. Watching the clumsy boy squirm and stutter wasn’t nearly as satisfying as it should have been; Blaise couldn’t help but feel a pang of pity for the Gryffindor. He had always thought Longbottom lived with his grandmother because his parents were dead, but as it turned out they were institutionalized; tortured into madness by Draco’s crazy aunt.

_I wonder whether Malfoy knows_ , he mused dully. After Potter and Granger Longbottom was Draco’s third-favourite target; but in all the years of taunting and tormenting he had never brought up _that_ story.

After Slughorn finally left Longbottom alone it was Potter’s turn. “The Chosen One!” the professor exclaimed excitedly and started to suck up to the guy. While Potter feigned modesty Slughorn droned on and on; about Potter’s heroic parents, his rumoured trip to the Ministry and all the sensational stories the _Prophet_ had published over the summer.

Slughorn’s hymn of praise was simply annoying, and eventually Blaise couldn’t take it anymore.

“They say you have exceptional powers, far superior to the usual...”

He snorted. _Potter’s only exceptional talent is to always get away with breaking the rules!_

“Yeah Zabini, because _you’re_ so talented... at posing!” Ginny Weasley bursted out, glaring at him with fury.

Mildly surprised by her unexpected hostility Blaise gave her a curious look. _Last year she didn’t think me that repulsive, did she_ , he mused vaguely.

Slughorn chuckled, seemingly amused about her show of temper. Then he proceeded to warn him about the girl’s nasty Bat-Bogey Hex.

Blaise shrugged it off. A little Bat-Bogey Hex was nothing he had to fear; even if the little Weasley should manage to hit him unawares, his runes would protect him.

The afternoon dragged on with Slughorn telling them anecdote after anecdote about all the famous wizards and witches he had taught in his time and who had been delighted to be part of his so-called _Slug-Club_. When the professor finally let them go it was already getting dark outside.

 

* * *

 

As he made his way back to his compartment Blaise was suddenly overcome by the strong sense of being followed. A quick glance over his shoulder revealed nothing, but when he concentrated and enhanced his hearing he could make out the sound of furtive footsteps trailing behind him.

_Potter!_ he reckoned. _He must be hiding under his bloody invisibility cloak._

Of course it could have also been someone hiding by means of a rune, but certainly that kind of pursuer would have made sure to silence his footfalls as well. For a moment Blaise toyed with the idea to draw his wand and give Potter the shock of a lifetime, but then he decided against it.

_Better find out what he’s up to._

Potter’s intention became clear when he tried to sneak into the Slytherin compartment after him. Unfortunately the short tussle at the door ended with Blaise awkwardly slumping onto Goyle’s lap, much to their mutual annoyance. As Goyle started yelling at him, Blaise felt a sudden rush of air and assumed that Potter had made his way into the compartment.

Goyle flung him back into his own seat and Blaise concentrated once more. It was hard to hear anything over Goyle’s angry shouting, but after he had finally shut up, he could hear hushed breathing coming from the luggage rack.

_Got you, Potter_ , he thought triumphantly, inwardly smirking. Draco gave him a meaningful look, subtly jerking his head towards where Potter was hiding. Blaise answered the unspoken question with a small nod.

_How very sneaky for a Gryffindor_ , he mused, _what’s he hoping to overhear?_

Draco smirked and leaned back to rest his head in Pansy’s lap. “What did Slughorn want?”

Blaise shrugged. “He’s looking for people to join his little _Slug-Club_.”

As he proceeded to tell them who had been in attendance, Draco was clearly annoyed that he hadn’t been invited. “My father was some kind of favourite of his,” he stated haughtily. “Perhaps he didn’t know I was on the train...”

“I don’t think Slughorn is interested in Death Eaters or their children,” Blaise pointed out.

Draco huffed. “Whatever. Who is he anyway? Just some fat, old teacher. I don’t care whether he wants me in his stupid club, maybe I won’t even be in Hogwarts next year...”

That got Pansy’s attention; abruptly she stopped petting Malfoy’s hair. “What do you mean?”

“You never know.” Draco smirked. “Maybe I’ll be pursuing greater and more important things by then.”

Everyone gaped at him. Blaise felt his heart beating a little faster; perhaps learning about Draco’s task would be easier than he had thought. _He can’t tell us anything meaningful in front of Potter_ , he reminded himself and his excitement faded as quickly as it had come.

“You mean... _Him_?” Pansy breathed, looking awestruck.

Draco smiled mysteriously and got to his feet. “Almost there; we should get changed,” he stated casually.

They changed into their school robes and soon the train jerked to a stop; they had arrived in Hogsmeade.

As they left the compartment Draco lingered behind. “Go on ahead,” he told them. “I’ll catch up with you.”

Blaise perked a brow and Draco smirked in response.

Lightly shaking his head he turned to go. _Better watch out, Potter_ , he thought gleefully. The Gryffindor deserved some payback for his attempt to spy on them and Draco, who wanted to take revenge for his father, would certainly make him pay.

_Potter will survive_ , Blaise thought dryly. _He faced the Dark Lord and lived; what’s a Draco Malfoy after that._

 

* * *

 

**Author’s note:** There might be scenes in this chapter feeling vaguely familiar, that’s because it’s loosely based on Chapter 7 of _Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince_ by J.K. Rowling; I also borrowed a few lines of dialogue from that chapter.


	29. The Sorting Hat

“Wait here. The first years will be joining you shortly,” said the stern-looking woman who had introduced herself as Professor McGonagall, when she led Elena into the small, completely empty storeroom adjoining the massive entrance hall of Hogwarts.

Then she was left alone; her heart was beating frantically in her chest and her palms were clammy. The nervousness that had slowly subsided over the course of the day was returning in full force. She forced herself to take a deep, calming breath. _Get it together_ , she reprimanded herself. _No one’s going to bite you_.

Daphne had told her everything about the Sorting Ceremony at Hogwarts, so she knew that there was nothing to worry about. _Theoretically_. Yet she found the idea that her fate would be decided by a _hat_ a little disconcerting.

At Ilvermorny the sorting had been more straightforward; one simply had to face the four statues representing the different houses: the Horned Serpent, the Wampus, the Thunderbird and the Pukwudgie. If they wanted a student for their house the enchanted carvings would react; if the Horned Serpent wanted the student, the crystal set into its forehead would light up. If the Wampus wanted the student, it roared. The Thunderbird signified its approval by beating its wings, and the Pukwudgie would raise its arrow into the air. _Easy and simple._

Elena had even been offered a choice between Horned Serpent and Pukwudgie; she had opted for the latter.

However, a talking hat had the serious advantage that it was possible to discuss the decision. By now she was certain that she wanted to be sorted into Slytherin. There she would be with Daphne, and for the sake of her cousin’s company she was prepared to even put up with the presence of Malfoy and Zabini.

At the moment Daphne seemed to be at odds with her two best friends anyway. Her reaction to the news of Malfoy dating Pansy this morning had confirmed Elena’s suspicion that her cousin’s relationship with the guy was more than just a little complex. Whenever she had tried to steer the conversation onto him Daphne had quickly changed the topic.

She hadn’t wanted to talk about Zabini either. The rift between her and her best friend seemed serious, considering the chilly manner of Daphne turning him away on the train. _Maybe it’s because she found out that he’s a Death Eater_ , Elena mused. _Or perhaps she just realized that he’s a lunatic._

But whatever the reason might be, after Zabini had left them alone Daphne had quickly resumed her usual, cheerful demeanour and chatted animatedly about classes and teachers. Time had flown by and after a while they had been joined by some of her cousin’s other house mates.

Elena couldn’t say that she particularly liked Theodore Nott; he had been far too conceited and full of himself, and it seemed that everything he ever said had a double meaning. Millicent Bulstrode on the other hand had spoken two sentences at the most; so far Elena wasn’t sure whether the sturdy girl was just a quiet person or had nothing to say due to being simple-minded.

But Tracey Davies had been nice enough; and with her and Daphne Elena now knew two people in Slytherin house whom she could imagine herself being friends with. Therefore she had decided to ask the hat to put her there.

_What if he doesn’t listen?_ a nervous little voice piped up in her head. _Mum was a Gryffindor, after all._

Daphne had told her that most students were sorted into the same house their parents had been in; so there was the possibility that the hat would try and put her into Gryffindor. Elena didn’t mind the idea of being sorted into her mother’s old house in general; the problem was the strong rivalry between the different houses. It seemed to be a lot more extreme than she knew it from Ilvermorny.

She had understood that especially Gryffindors and Slytherins were mortal enemies and that made her fear her cousin wouldn’t want to have anything to do with her anymore if she ended up in Gryffindor. She sighed. _Please, let it be Slytherin._

Suddenly she heard the sound of a lot of feet trampling from the entrance hall that had been quiet for a while. The door opened and Professor McGonagall led a bunch of small, trembling first years inside; they all looked about as nervous as Elena felt herself. They surged into the room which was positively crowded now.

Professor McGonagall told them to be quiet and then gave a short speech, informing them about the different houses and the house point system. She expressed her hope that they all would be valuable additions to their future houses and then she told them to prepare themselves for the sorting that was about to begin in a few minutes.

After the professor had left the room the first years started to whisper among each other; a lot of them were giving her curious looks. Elena couldn’t blame them; it was obvious that she wasn’t a first year and they must be wondering why she was being sorted with them. No one dared to ask her though, and she felt quite relieved when the door finally opened again and Professor McGonagall told them to follow her.

_Please, let it be Slytherin!_ she thought once more, before they walked through enormous double doors and entered the Great Hall of Hogwarts. The outline of the gigantic room reminded her of the dining hall in Ilvermorny, a little smaller but at least three times as high; instead of a ceiling she could see the night sky above.

The other students were sitting at four long tables; every eye was on them when Professor McGonagall led the first years and her towards the front of the hall.

Elena was painfully aware of all the stares digging into her; she was more than a head taller than the tallest first year and therefore rather noticeable. She kept her gaze firmly trained on the high table were the teachers were sitting. As they came closer she spotted Dumbledore, who was smiling and gave her a small nod; immediately she felt a little better.

In front of the teachers’ table the Sorting Hat was sitting on a chair. When they had gathered around it started to sing. Elena knew from Daphne that the hat would sing a new song every year, usually serenading the different houses, their founders and the character traits they appreciated in their students. However, the song it was singing tonight was a powerful call for tolerance and solidarity in these dangerous times. When the hat had finished it got a round of thunderous applause.

Professor McGonagall unrolled a parchment and started to call names in alphabetical order.

_At least I don’t have to wait for long,_ Elena thought nervously. She noticed that the time the hat needed to reach a decision varied from student to student; some it sorted at once, for others it took a minute or two. _Please, let it be Slytherin!_ she prayed silently.

Then Professor McGonagall called “ _Erikson, Daniel_ ” and she realized with a start that she apparently was to be sorted as the very last. _Fabulous!_ she thought dryly. _Just fabulous._

Slowly the rows of first years thinned out until she was the only unsorted student left.

“De Villiers, Elena!”

Her legs felt quite shaky when she stepped forward to sit down on the chair. Professor McGonagall put the hat on her head.

_“De Villiers?_ Well…” said a small voice in her ear. “Very difficult, yes. So much power, such exceptional potential… But where to put you?”

_Please, let it be Slytherin,_ Elena thought timidly.

“Slytherin? Perhaps…” said the hat, before it was quiet for a while. She was starting to wonder whether it had fallen asleep, when it spoke up again. “Very difficult indeed, but I think I can rule out Hufflepuff. Ravenclaw as well; you’re smart, but not a scholar.”

_Slytherin, please!_ she begged in her mind.

“Why are you so sure about that?” asked the hat. “I can see courage, I see bravery; yes, Gryffindor would be a good fit for you!”

_There are people that I care about in Slytherin_ , she pointed out. _I have family there!_

“Is that so?” The hat sounded amused. “Well, I am tasked with sorting you, not them; and I can’t ignore what I see. Therefore I have decided on GRYFFINDOR!”

_No!_ she thought desperately, but it was too late; she had heard how the hat had shouted its decision out into the hall; Professor McGonagall took it off her head.

In a daze Elena stood up and walked over to the Gryffindor table, vaguely aware that the Gryffindors were cheering. The only free seats were at the very front of the table, where she sat down next to the newly sorted first years.

Since the sorting was finished now Professor McGonagall carried the Sorting Hat away. The headmaster stood up to say a few words of welcome, before he wished them a healthy appetite and the food appeared on the tables.

Elena found that she wasn’t that hungry anymore; she chewed and swallowed mechanically without really noticing what she was eating. The first years next to her were chattering happily among each other; already they seemed on their way to becoming fast friends. She had no one to talk to though; the younger students threw her curious glances now and then, but they didn’t dare to address her.

_It’s just like Ilvermorny all over again,_ Elena thought desperately, _I’m the freak who has no friends._

Halfway through the meal a ghost floated over and sat down across from her. He introduced himself as Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington and welcomed her and the first years to Gryffindor house. Elena got talking to him; she was so relieved that someone was willing to speak with her that she didn’t care that he was already dead.

“I think it safe to assume that the young lady is not a first year,” Sir Nicholas declared rather pompously. “What brings you to Hogwarts so late? Have you been home-schooled before?”

Elena told him that she had attended Ilvermorny and they got into a lively conversation about the differences between the two wizarding schools. The ghost held the firm view that Hogwarts was the best school on the planet and he did his best to convince her of his opinion.

“Even the famous Merlin himself was taught here! And our Headmaster is none other than Albus Dumbledore, the greatest wizard of all time!”

Suddenly there was an uproar from the other end of the hall, some students were even standing up from their seats to get a better look at what was happening over there. Curious about the cause of all that ruckus Elena leaned back and craned her neck.

Two people had entered the Great Hall; the taller man was clad in black robes that were billowing behind him, the other was wearing Muggle clothes. They came closer and she saw that the latter was younger, a student perhaps – and then she gasped in shock and surprise as she recognized the boy.

_Harry Potter_. She stared at him; her heart was beating frantically in her chest. _What happened to his face?_

The _Chosen One_ was smeared with blood.

_What the hell happened to him_? she wondered worriedly. _Was he attacked?_

The students around her seemed to be wondering the same thing; the wildest speculations were uttered.

“Maybe he was attacked by some Death Eaters…”

“Could have been a dementor…”

“What if it was… _Him_?” - “You-know-who?” - “Who else?”

Elena was pretty sure that a confrontation with Voldemort would have left Potter with far worse than just a bloody nose. _Besides, I would know, wouldn’t I?_

Over the years she had been silent observer whenever he had faced Voldemort; whenever he had gotten himself into mortal peril, actually.

_It couldn’t have been anything all too dangerous then…_ she mused vaguely.

It sure _looked_ bad though. Potter reached the middle of the table and sat down quickly, out of her sight. The other man made his way to the teacher’s table; up close she saw that his black hair was greasy and a hooked nose dominated his pale face. Somehow she felt like she had seen him before.

“You have to excuse me, my dear; I have to go and check on my friend.” Sir Nicholas rose from the bench. “Harry Potter is a close friend of mine, you know,” he declared importantly and turned to float down the table.

Elena was left to her own thoughts; absentmindedly she picked at her dessert. Ever since her mother had told her she was going to attend Hogwarts, she had been excited to get the opportunity of meeting Harry Potter. Today she had kept a lookout for him all day, eager to finally see the Chosen One with her own eyes.

Now that she _had_ seen him, Elena suddenly wasn’t so sure whether she wanted to meet him at all. _What am I going to say to him?_ she wondered thoughtfully. _Hi, I’m Elena; nice to meet you. By the way – I’ve experienced all the worst moments of your life in my nightmares. Want to be friends?_

She snorted. Yes, that would be quite the icebreaker.

However, they belonged to the same house now; they were in the same year… Sooner or later she would certainly bump into him.

Suddenly the sound of talking and laughter faded away; Elena looked up to notice that Dumbledore had risen from his seat. He greeted them once more; the sight of his blackened hand caused a lot of whispering among the students. Over the course of her control lessons she had gotten used to the injury; after a while she had even dared to ask the professor about it, but he had just smiled and told her that it was nothing to worry about.

The same thing he repeated now and shook the sleeve of his robes over the hand. He proceeded by making some general announcements concerning banned objects and Quidditch tryouts and then he introduced the new teacher for ‘Potions’, Professor Slughorn. When the headmaster announced that the former Potions teacher, Professor Snape, would take on ‘Defense against the Dark Arts’, an uproar went through the hall.

Curious why these news were so sensational, Elena took a look at the professor. She realized that Professor Snape was the man who had entered the hall with Harry Potter; and suddenly she knew exactly where she had seen him before.

It had been during the last year, when she had suffered from blackouts due to sudden flashes of insight into Potter’s mind. Apparently he utterly despised the man; and whenever he had been overcome by a strong wave of hatred she had been drawn into his mind and had seen Professor Snape through his eyes. Maybe she was biased, but somehow Elena thought the man looked rather unsympathetic.

Dumbledore was now informing the students about the new safety measures that had been taken to meet the threat Voldemort was posing. He urged them all to be careful and alert and told them to report any suspicious observations. Then the headmaster wished them a good night and they were dismissed.

 

* * *

 

The sudden end of the feast took her by surprise; slowly she got to her feet and rose from the bench. The other students were already rushing from the hall; hesitantly she started to follow. _Where am I supposed to go now?_

“Elena!” She turned around and saw Daphne fighting her way through the crowd. The expression her cousin was wearing looked rather unhappy.

“Hey Daphne,” Elena greeted her bleakly.

“So it’s Gryffindor for you, huh?” Daphne gave her a strained smile.

“Yeah…” She shrugged her shoulders in a gesture of helplessness. “The hat insisted.”

“Still better than Hufflepuff, right?” stated her cousin with a frown.

“I think so…” Elena trailed off, not sure what else to say. “Do you know where I’m supposed to go now?”

Daphne shook her head. “I’ve literally no idea where the Gryffindor common room is… but you can ask Granger, she’s a prefect.” She gestured towards a very bushy-haired girl who was just rushing over in their direction.

Elena couldn’t help but gape at her. _Someone else I’ve seen before… through Potter’s eyes._ Involuntarily she shook her head. _Better get used to it._

“First years, follow me!” the girl named Granger called sternly. As the Gryffindor first years gathered around her like ducklings, her gaze fell onto Elena and her eyes narrowed. “You should follow me, too.”

“Well, better listen to her,” stated Daphne. “She can get quite bossy.”

Elena gave her a sad smile. “See you tomorrow?” she said uncertainly.

“Sure.” Her cousin hugged her goodbye.

“I’m not waiting!” Granger sounded annoyed; she turned and led the first years away.

Daphne rolled her eyes. “See what I mean?”

Elena snorted and hurried to catch up to the prefect and her flock of ducklings.

 

* * *

 

Hogwarts Castle was incredible. As Granger led them through halls and corridors and they climbed one flight of stairs after the other, Elena was gaping in amazement. She knew that Ilvermorny had been constructed in the image of Hogwarts, but it quickly became obvious that her old school was a far cry from the original.

Hogwarts appeared to be considerably older and somewhat crooked, yet more spacious; it was a lot rougher than Ilvermorny but also far more beautiful. The whole place was emanating an aura of mystery and enchantment; every stone seemed to be oozing the memory of centuries. It was simply amazing, like walking through a fairy tale.

The whole way Granger was talking non-stop, spewing information and showering them with rules and practical advice, but Elena barely heard a word she said. Finally they stopped in front of the portrait of a very fat lady in a pink silk dress. Granger said the password and the portrait swung aside and let them into the Gryffindor common room.

It was a round, cozy room, full with small tables and armchairs; at the opposite wall a fire was burning in a massive fireplace. Granger told the girls to wait while she showed the boys to their dorm. Some of the older Gryffindors were lounging around the fireplace; Elena threw them a furtive glance, but Harry Potter wasn’t among them.

Granger returned and motioned for them to follow her; she led them up a winding staircase.

“First years, this is your dorm,” she informed the little girls as she opened a door with a small notice saying ‘ _First Years’_. Once more the prefect told them sternly to always follow the house rules; then she reminded the girls of the breakfast times and bade them goodnight.

She shut the door and turned to regard Elena in a reserved manner. “What year are you in?” she asked curtly.

“Sixth,” she replied just as bluntly.

“Oh!” Granger seemed startled by that information, but quickly regained her professional demeanour. “You’re in my dorm then. Follow me.”

They climbed some more steps, before Granger stopped and opened another door. “Here we are.”

The room they entered was rather small and mostly dominated by the large four poster beds that were adorned with deep-red, velvety curtains.

“I guess this one is yours,” stated Granger and gestured towards one of the four beds. Next to it on the floor Elena saw her trunk, on top of which her owl was waiting in its cage.

“This door leads to the bathroom,” Granger pointed out, “we have to share it with our roommates.”

Elena took a quick look inside; the bathroom was small and only had the bare essentials: two sinks, a shower stall and a toilet. _It’ll do_. Back at Ilvermorny she had been used to large community bathrooms; in her opinion this was way more comfortable.

Granger was eying her with an unreadable expression; nervously Elena racked her brain for something to say to break the awkward silence. Yet before she could come up with anything the door opened and two more girls entered the room, busy giggling with each other. When they noticed Elena they paused to gape at her.

“You’re the new one,” the Indian-looking girl stated the obvious.

“Yes.” She attempted a winning smile. “I’m Elena de Villiers.”

“I thought all de Villiers were in Slytherin.” The girl with wavy blonde hair gave her a doubting look.

“Well, I’m not.” Elena tried to keep her expression friendly. “My mother was in Gryffindor, too.”

“Your mother?” asked the Indian one. “That would be Catherine de Villiers, the auror?” Her face showed open curiosity.

She nodded, trying to ignore the pang of pain she felt at the mention of her mother’s name.

“That’s the one who died recently, right? The papers were full of it,” the blonde girl stated, looking sensation-hungry.

It took her some effort to refrain from gritting her teeth. _Seriously, how tactless can one be?_ But she forced herself to remain calm and gave the girl a curt nod. “Yes.”

But the nosy blonde wasn’t done yet. “It is true that your father was Sirius Black?”

Elena sucked in a breath, completely taken aback by the blunt question. Before she could even begin to think about a suitable retort, Granger piped up unexpectedly.

“That’s enough, Lavender,” she said sternly.

The girl named Lavender shot Granger an angry look, but Elena felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude towards the prefect.

“I think we should introduce ourselves properly,” Granger went on. “These two are Parvati Patil (she gestured towards the Indian-looking girl) and Lavender Brown (she pointed to the nosy blonde one). And my name is Hermione Granger.”

On impulse Elena smiled at her and put out her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Granger looked a little surprised, but after short hesitation she shook the offered hand. “Nice to meet you, too.”

Elena turned towards the other girls. “And you as well.”

Parvati Patil gave her a small smile when she shook her hand, but Lavender Brown’s expression clearly betrayed unsatisfied curiosity. Yet she didn’t dare to ask again and then her friend pulled her away. The two girls settled down on one of the beds by the door; soon they were giggling again.

Granger went over to the bed on the opposite side of the room. She opened her trunk and grabbed a few things; then she disappeared into the bathroom.

Left to her own devices Elena decided to write the letter she had promised to Gideon. _He’ll hate that I’m in Gryffindor_ , she thought resignedly. Even if her cousin had assured her that it didn’t matter which house she was sorted in; she knew that Gideon was a Slytherin to the core.

Sighing she opened her trunk to find some parchment and a quill. Her owl was clacking impatiently with its beak; Elena smiled and opened the cage to let it out. After some consideration she had decided to name the bird _Merlin_ , much to Gideon’s amusement. But she found that the name fit the owl perfectly; it simply had an aura of dignity and wisdom.

She had just finished the letter and was busy tying it up to Merlin’s leg, when Granger reappeared.

“That’s a beautiful owl,” she stated as she climbed into her bed.

“Yeah.” Lovingly Elena stroked the bird’s head; it hooted softly. “My cousin gave it to me for my birthday,” she told Granger and opened the window to let Merlin fly into the night.

“Greengrass?” Granger asked curiously.

Elena closed the window and turned back to face her, a little surprised how well-informed the other girl was about her family relations. “You mean Daphne?”

When Granger nodded, she shook her head. “No, it was a present from Gideon.”

The other girl narrowed her eyes. “De Villiers?”

Something about her tone made Elena frown. “Yes. Do you know him?”

Granger shrugged her shoulders. “Not really, merely by sight. “He was head boy a few years back,” she explained.

That information took her by surprise. “Really? I didn’t know that.” Thoughtfully she opened her trunk again to search for her pyjamas and the bag of toiletries.

 

* * *

 

When she returned from the bathroom, Granger’s nose was buried in a book. The other two girls were still whispering and giggling among themselves and therefore Elena decided to read a little before sleeping as well.

As she took out her book she saw how Granger’s head snapped up from the corner of her eye. The other girl craned her neck to get a look at the cover. Grinning in amusement Elena turned the book so that Granger could read the title.

Instantly her face lit up. “ _Hogwarts – A History_!” she exclaimed excitedly.

“Yeah, it’s quite good,” said Elena. “A tad long-winded, but very interesting.”

“It’s my favourite book!” Granger stated happily. For the first time she bestowed a genuine smile upon Elena.

After that the prefect thawed out; she confessed that she had read the book at least a dozen times and was able to quote all her favourite passages by heart. They got into an animated discussion about the book and Hogwarts in general; and when Elena told her that she had attended Ilvermorny before, Granger’s interest was truly piqued; curiously she asked question after question.

_Maybe being in Gryffindor won’t be so bad after all_ , Elena thought later that night, before she drifted off to sleep.

 

* * *

**Author’s note:** Elena’s recapitulation of the Sorting Ceremony at Ilvermorny I borrowed straight from J.K. Rowling’s description on Pottermore.

 


	30. Gloom

Gloomy Blaise stared into the flickering flames. The Slytherin common room was almost empty; most of the other students had gone to bed already. He was sitting alone in an armchair by the fireplace, lost in thought.

He still hadn’t managed to talk to Daphne. At the feast she had ignored him studiously; she had sat with Tracey and Astoria and refused to even look in his direction. So he had tried to catch her afterwards, but as soon as Daphne had entered the common room she had disappeared into her dorm.

_I’ll try again first thing tomorrow morning,_ Blaise resolved. Hopefully his apology would find more favour with his best friend when her blasted cousin wasn’t around to sabotage him.

He frowned angrily. Seeing the girl getting sorted into Gryffindor had seriously astonished him; with her exceptional talent for lying and deception he had thought her the perfect Slytherin. Not that he was complaining that she hadn’t ended up in his house, on the contrary. But the girl had surprised him once again and if there was one thing Blaise couldn’t stand it would be people who took him by surprise.

He had always prided himself on his talent to read people, to decipher their desires and hidden motives and predict their actions. Most people were easy to see through and even easier to manipulate. A well-aimed word here, a subtle nudge in the right direction there and things played out the way it pleased him. Most people wouldn’t even realize that they had been played.

However, the girl didn’t only refuse to be read; far worse, somehow she had managed to play _him_. Him, who always was two steps ahead of everyone else. Slowly Blaise shook his head; he still wasn’t sure how she had done it. _She must have played the hat, too,_ he thought darkly. There was no way she was one of those Gryffindor goody-goodies.

_What the hell is her game?_ He still wasn’t any closer to find the answer to that question. And he needed to know in order to destroy her. Involuntarily he clenched his fists; the flames in front of him flared dangerously, fuelled by his fury.

“Easy Zabini, don’t burn the place down!” Theodore Nott was strolling over; lazily he flopped into the armchair next to him.

Blaise took a deep breath and forced himself to relax his hands; instantly the flames calmed down.

“I just got myself scarred for life,” Nott stated casually, seemingly unimpressed by his show of power.

“How so?” asked Blaise resignedly. His housemate clearly had a story to tell and he wouldn’t leave him alone until he had done so.

“I walked in on Draco shagging Pansy,” Nott said with an expression of utter disgust. “Seriously, if Malfoy is too sloppy to shut his curtains he could at least have the decency to shag someone a little more pleasant to look at.”

Blaise snorted. _Look at him complaining, as if he hasn’t found his perverse pleasure in watching them._ Nott had a real voyeuristic streak that gave him the creeps. It went so far that he avoided pursuing his own amorous activities in their dorm whenever he could. Anywhere else was better than having to fear being spied on by Nott.

The guy was smirking now. “Really, Malfoy used to have such good taste. Take Greengrass for example, that’s something I’d like to look at. But I hear she’s off the market?”

He just shrugged. _Looks like Pansy has already spread the news._ It didn’t surprise him though. If one wanted something known, all one had to do was tell Pansy and ask her to keep it quiet.

“Such a pity, I always wanted a piece of that,” Nott stated with a leer. “Had you?”

Blaise eyed him with increasing disgust. “What?”

“Come on Zabini, you and Greengrass are practically glued to each other,” Nott said with a hungry look. “You must’ve had a taste at some point.”

He gave him a scathing glare. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

Nott sneered. “Touchy, aren’t we? Did I hit a raw nerve?”

“Just shut up and leave me in peace!” Blaise snarled at him.

“Don’t burn me!” The other boy raised his hands in a mock gesture of surrender, feigning panic. Then he dropped the act and smirked. “Ease up, Zabini! Greengrass might be out of our reach now, but there’s still that new cousin of hers. Looks almost the same and she’s a Gryffindor, so that’s some added bonus.” He perked a brow and gave him a suggestive look. “What do you say, Blaise? Are you game?”

Blaise gritted his teeth. It took some effort to keep his composure and refrain from clenching his fists again. “I wouldn’t touch her if she was the last girl on the planet,” he said coldly.

Nott looked surprised by his answer, but then he shrugged his shoulders. “Your loss, Zabini. Nothing’s going to stop me from going after her.”

“Happy hunting,” Blaise told him indifferently. For a moment he was almost amused at the thought what the girl would do to Nott if he dared to pester her. _She’ll rip him to shreds_ , he thought gleefully, smirking at the satisfying imagery.

Nott yawned exaggeratedly and stood up. “Nice talk, Zabini; but I think I’m going to try my luck again. They should be finished by now, Malfoy never had much stamina.” With a last sneer he turned away, heading towards the dorms.

He shook his head and resumed staring into the flames, once more left to his gloomy thoughts.

 

* * *

 

Blaise was running for his life. He was pushing himself to the limit, moving so fast that the familiar buildings and shops of _Diagon Alley_ were all but a blur in the corner of his vision; yet he was painfully aware that he would be too late. He always was.

By the time he reached his destination the Dark Mark was hovering above the _Moody Hippogriff_ , announcing the horrible truth. The pub had already been raided; the Death Eaters were gone... Blaise had failed once again.

Desperately trying to brace himself for what he knew was awaiting him inside, he tore the door open. The sight of destruction and utter devastation hit him like the first time. Frantically he forced his way through the rubble, kicking away the remains of a table and jumping over the wreckage of the massive chandelier.

He tried to avoid looking at all the corpses, but he saw them nonetheless. Malcolm, the bull-necked landlord, slumped on top of the bar. In front of him some of his regulars; at the sight of their mauled bodies the bile rose in his throat. And over there, in the corner...

“Bianca!” In a flash he was by her sight. In the middle of shards and broken furniture he fell to his knees, cautiously turning the petite brunette onto her back.

She drew in a ragged breath and her eyes fluttered open. “Blaise! I knew you would come...” Her voice was a strained whisper; blood was trickling from the corner of her mouth.

Blind panic constricted his throat; he drew his wand, helplessly racking his brain for a spell to heal at least some of her gaping wounds.

“Don’t!” Bianca choked out. “It’s too late... no need to get yourself into trou-” With a sickening gurgle she coughed up more blood.

“No!” With his bare hands Blaise tried to stop the life from seeping out of her. “You’ll be okay; I’ll get you to St Mungo’s...”

Weakly she shook her head. “You can’t save me this time, brother.”

Suddenly she grimaced in pain. Her face seemed to be melting in front of his eyes; the skin was blistering and darkening under his touch. Her hair was changing too; brown darkened to ebony and the silky strands started to curl. Soon the Polyjuice Potion had worn off completely and he was looking into his sister’s real face. Her beautiful features stretched into a heartbreaking smile.

“I love you, Blaise,” whispered Bianca.

He choked on a sob. “Don’t leave me,” he pleaded hoarsely. “Please! I can’t live without you...”

With some effort she lifted her hand to cup his cheek. “I’ll always be with you.”

Then a shudder went through her body; her hand fell away from his face and the life left her eyes.

 

* * *

 

“NO!” Screaming at the top of his lungs Blaise woke with a start. His heart was beating frantically in his chest and he was drenched with sweat. Trying hard to control his ragged breathing he sat up in his bed.

His roommates were gaping at him, dumbfounded and sleepy-eyed.

Nott was the first to find his tongue. “What the hell, Zabini?”

Crabbe and Goyle were just gawping stupidly; Draco’s bed was empty.

Blaise drew in a shaky breath, trying to appear unfazed. “Nightmare,” he told them with a shrug.

Crabbe and Goyle grunted simultaneously and resumed their interrupted sleep; it didn’t even take a minute before they were snoring again.

He climbed out of his bed; there was no way he would be able to fall asleep again. Since his shirt was completely soaked he pulled it over his head and opened his trunk to rummage for another one. He could feel Nott’s stare digging into his back; shutting the trunk he turned to face him with a frown. “See something you like, Nott?”

The other boy narrowed his eyes at him. “What did you dream about?”

Blaise shot him a glare. “None of your business.” He put the fresh shirt on and grabbed a jumper. “I’m going to get some air,” he informed Nott, who shrugged and lay back down.

 

* * *

 

The castle was completely deserted; at this hour even Filch had interrupted his eternal hunt for rule breakers to get his much-needed beauty sleep. Blaise hadn’t bothered to light his wand; thanks to a rune on his right upper arm he had perfect night vision. Yet he barely paid attention to his surroundings; his feet were carrying him up to the astronomy tower at their own accord.

It was his favourite place in the whole school and he often came there when he needed to think, but tonight someone had beat him to it. In the moonlight he saw a flash of pale blonde hair and recognized Draco instantly.

Malfoy seemed deep in thought; even though Blaise made no effort to silence his footsteps his friend jumped a little when he sat down next to him; Draco even raised his wand.

Blaise just smirked. “Jumpy, aren’t we? Who were you expecting?”

Draco shrugged. “Filch, Peeves, Potter... take your pick.”

“I would assume Potter’s going to lay low for a while... after what you did to his face he should know better than to try and sneak up on you again.”

Malfoy smirked. “You should’ve seen his face when I hit him with the Full-Body-Bind! It was priceless.”

Blaise chuckled. “I bet.” He gave Draco a thoughtful look. “What are you doing up here in the middle of the night?”

“Think,” he answered curtly. “You?”

“Same.”

For a while they sat in silence, taking in the view of the castle from above. Blaise pondered how to best approach the topic he was desperate to discuss: Malfoy’s task for the Dark Lord. But before he had reached a decision, Draco spoke up.

“What’s the deal with you and Daphne?” he asked, trying a little too hard to appear casual.

Startled by the question Blaise raised his brows. “What do you mean?”

Draco snorted. “Come on, mate; she totally ignored you during the feast, that’s not like her.”

He frowned. “Astounding that you took note of that; your attention seemed rather occupied by your dazzling girlfriend. Interesting choice by the way.” He gave Malfoy a pointed look. “ _Pansy_? Seriously?”

Draco smirked. “What can I say... a man has his needs.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“Undoubtedly,” Blaise stated dryly. “But Pansy? You could have _any_.”

Malfoy’s face lost every bit of smugness; all of the sudden he seemed tense. “Not the one that I want,” he said quietly, studiously avoiding Blaise’s gaze.

“I see,” he stated, feeling extremely uncomfortable.

They lapsed into silence again. It lasted a few minutes until Draco awkwardly cleared his throat.

“Anyway,” he said, feigning indifference, “I can see why she’s ignoring me. But what have you done to annoy her?”

Blaise sighed, averting his gaze. “I wasn’t there when she needed me,” he confessed quietly. “She wanted to tell me about – you know... but I didn’t... I wasn’t there.”

“Ah,” was all Draco said to that.

When he raised his eyes he saw that his friend was eying him with a very strange expression. Questioningly he perked a brow. “What?”

Draco cleared his throat, looking remarkably uncomfortable. “Well, I was wondering... you and Daphne...” He trailed off.

Blaise was amazed to notice that Malfoy was slightly blushing. “What are you asking me?”

Draco looked pained. “You know, you two have always been so close... and I thought that _maybe_...”

Realisation hit him like a bludger. “Merlin, no!” he exclaimed, staring dumbfounded at his best friend. “No!” he repeated decidedly. “She’s like a sister for me.”

“Oh,” said Draco; he seemed immensely relieved, but narrowed his eyes at him. “Then why weren’t you there for her?” he asked suspiciously.

Blaise shrugged, once more averting his gaze. “I was busy,” he told him evasively.

“ _Busy_?” Draco sounded sceptical. “With what?”

“Stuff,” he answered vaguely. “You know – my mother got married and all that...” Of course he hadn’t even attended the ceremony, but Malfoy didn’t know that.

“Ah.” He still didn’t seem convinced.

Blaise raised his eyes, deciding to seize the opportunity. “What about you?” he asked Draco, watching him carefully. “I couldn’t get a hold of you the last few weeks, what were you up to?”

Malfoy sighed and dropped his gaze.

“Yes?” Blaise enquired again.

When he didn’t get an answer he opted for taking a slightly different approach. “Please tell me you weren’t busy with Pansy the whole time,” he said in a wry tone.

Draco chuckled. “Why are you so down on Pansy?”

Blaise snorted. “Because she’s _Pansy_!”

“Right.” Draco smirked. “But she’s good in the sack, let me tell you that.”

He grimaced. “Please, spare me the details. That would be stuff for nightmares.” His current nightmare was bad enough; abruptly he turned serious again. _If he doesn’t want to tell me of his own accord, I have to ask him directly._

Blaise cleared his throat, inwardly crossing his fingers. “Anyway,” he said casually. “I was wondering about that other project of yours; you know, the one you told me about when we met at _The Leaking Cauldron.”_

Instantly Draco’s face assumed a shuttered expression. “I can’t tell you, Blaise.”

He frowned. “Why not? Back then you asked for my help.”

“It’s my task, okay?” Draco said defensively. “It was bestowed upon me and I’ll deal with it.”

“I’m sure you will,” stated Blaise dryly. This wasn’t going at all like he had hoped it would. _I can’t force him to accept my help though..._ He fixed Malfoy with a serious look. “If there is anything I can do, just let me know, okay?”

Draco gave him a small nod. “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t think it’ll be necessary.”

_Damn it_ , Blaise cursed inwardly. But he forced himself to give his friend a confident smile. “Let’s hope you’re right.”


	31. First Day

Hermione awoke very early and with a sense of excitement. She had always liked the first day of a new term; it was full of new beginnings. A new timetable, new courses and teachers; and on top of that the first day back at Hogwarts always felt like she was coming home.

She had ever been an early riser, but since she lived here she had cultivated that habit. If one had to share a bathroom with Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown it was simply a necessity to be done with the morning routine before those two would block the room for hours.

Yet today she wasn’t the first one to rise. The new girl’s bed was already empty and when Hermione climbed out of her bed her new roommate exited the bathroom, completely dressed and apparently ready for the day, only her curls looked a little damp still.

Elena de Villiers gave her a warm smile. “Good morning,” she said amiably. “I hope I didn’t wake you?”

Hermione returned the smile. “Good morning to you, too. I’m used to getting up early, but you beat me to it.”

The girl shrugged. “It’s the first day; I didn’t want to be late.” She frowned lightly. “You know, I’m not sure whether I’m going to find the way to the Great Hall at the first try, so better to have some time to spare, right?”

“No need to worry about that,” Hermione said eagerly. “You could just come with me – that’s if you want to?” She gave her an uncertain look, still not quite sure what to make of the new girl. She seemed nice, but she was a de Villiers after all and apparently close with Greengrass...

“That would be nice!” the girl answered somewhat relieved and gave her another smile.

“Okay, then wait for me, I’ll be quick,” Hermione told her and grabbed her clothes to go to the bathroom.

 

* * *

 

In the common room Harry and Ron were waiting for her.

“Good morning,” she said as she stepped towards them, the new girl trailing behind her.

“Morning, Hermione,” Harry replied absentmindedly. “Listen, there’s something I need to tell you...” He trailed off when he noticed that she wasn’t alone.

Hermione braced herself. “Guys, this is Elena de Villiers,” she introduced her new roommate to them. “And these two are Harry Potter and Ron Weasley.”

The new girl was staring at Harry and he stared back with a dumbfounded expression.

Ron on the other hand decided to show his insensitive streak once more. “You’re Sirius’ daughter?” he asked bluntly, gaping at the girl with wide eyes.

“Ron!” Hermione reprimanded him.

Harry had flinched at the mention of Sirius; the new girl turned to regard Ron with a reserved look. “I assume you’re talking about Sirius Black?” she asked him coolly.

He nodded, still gawping at her.

The girl shrugged her shoulders. “Well, I don’t have an answer to your question.”

“Huh?” Ron replied eloquently.

“I don’t know,” she told him curtly. “I hope that satisfies your curiosity.”

He opened his mouth again, but Hermione cut him off. “I think that’s enough, Ron.” She turned to face the others, forcing a strained smile. “How about breakfast?”

“Sure,” answered the new girl; she threw Ron a dark look.

Harry just nodded vaguely.

“Let’s go,” said Hermione, making an effort to sound cheerful. _So much for my happy first day_ , she thought resignedly.

They made their way to the Great Hall in awkward silence; Ron was still throwing curious glances at the new girl, while she and Harry studiously avoided looking at each other.

Hermione sighed inwardly. She had expected that it would be difficult for Harry to meet the girl that _might_ be his godfather’s daughter, but the girl’s reaction to meeting Harry had been somewhat strange as well. Hermione was used to people staring at her friend when they first met the famous Harry Potter; yet something about the new girl’s expression when she had looked at Harry had alarmed her.

_I wonder whether she told us the truth_ , Hermione mused thoughtfully. _How can she not know whether Sirius was her father?_ She resolved to keep a watchful eye on her new roommate for the next few days.

When they sat down at the Gryffindor table, the girl hesitated. “Do you mind if I sit with you?” she asked her almost shyly.

Hermione threw an uncertain glance at Harry, who just shrugged. So she nodded. “Sure.”

Ron’s attention was already completely occupied with breakfast; he was practically inhaling his porridge. The new girl eyed him with mild disgust, before she focused on buttering a toast. Harry was merely picking at his eggs.

“So,” said Hermione, trying to break the silence, “what did you want to tell me, Harry?”

For a split-second his eyes flicked towards the other girl, before he gave her a meaningful look. “Later.”

_Great!_ Hermione thought dryly. _Not awkward at all._

The post arrived and her roommate’s beautiful barn owl landed in front of her. “That was quick,” the girl said to the bird as she untied a letter from its leg. “Was he working late again?”

The owl hooted in response and the girl fed it a piece of her toast. Then she unrolled the parchment and started to read the letter. Its content made her chuckle in amusement.

Hermione couldn’t help but ask. “What’s so funny?”

She looked up with a grin. “My cousin expresses his relief that I didn’t end up in Hufflepuff and warns me to stay away from Potter and his little band of troublemakers.”

Ron choked on his porridge; Harry snorted angrily.

“It’s just a joke!” the girl hurried to assure them.

Hermione gave her a strained smile. “I assume de Villiers would have preferred if you got sorted into Slytherin.”

The new girl shrugged. “Probably. But I think Gideon sort of expected it; my mother was a Gryffindor after all.”

Ron overcame his coughing fit and showed his unsurpassed talent for bluntness once again. “Your mother was that auror, right? The one who put Sirius into Azkaban.”

“Ron!” Hermione shot him a scathing glare. _Seriously! That nerve!_

Harry had flinched; the new girl looked dumbfounded. “What?”

Since neither Ron nor Harry made a move to answer, Hermione cleared her throat. “Your mother was the auror who took Sirius Black prisoner,” she pointed out, carefully taking note of the other girl’s reaction.

Her astonishment seemed genuine. “Why would she do that? I thought they were...” She trailed off, looking aghast.

Hermione cast a quick glance at Harry before answering. “He was convicted for the murder of Peter Pettigrew.”

The girl’s eyebrows shot up. “Wormtail?”

She frowned at her. _How does she know that nickname?_ But before she could ask, Professor McGonagall stepped towards them, busy handing out timetables.

The head of their house regarded the new girl with a poignant look. “Welcome to Gryffindor, Miss de Villiers. The Headmaster just handed me your enrolment and your exam results from Ilvermorny; let me take a look.”

Professor McGonagall shuffled through a stack of papers. When she found what she was looking for, her eyes narrowed for a moment. “That’s quite pleasant,” she stated slightly surprised and bestowed a small smile upon the girl. “It would seem you have your mother’s talent.”

A light blush coloured the girl’s cheeks. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

Hermione couldn’t help herself; she had to take a quick peek at the parchment. What she saw amazed her; Elena de Villiers’ grades were as good as her own.

“Let me see...” Professor McGonagall consulted another parchment. “Charms, Transfiguration, Herbology, Potions and Defense against the Dark Arts... hm, it appears you didn’t take a practical in that subject.” She gave the girl an enquiring look.

“No,” she answered hesitantly. “I wasn’t allowed to.”

Professor McGonagall frowned. “Your theoretical grade would suggest that you are quite able to study that subject on N.E.W.T’s level, but Professor Snape might insist on testing your skills first.”

The girl looked somewhat uncomfortable. “The Headmaster said I could take the course,” she informed the head of their house.

Professor McGonagall nodded curtly. “Well, in that case I shall consult with him and inform Professor Snape of his decision.” She took another look at her parchment and her eyes narrowed again. “It says here that you want to take up Ancient Runes, but haven’t studied the subject before.”

“That’s right.” Under the stern gaze that Professor McGonagall was fixing her with the girl shuffled awkwardly on her seat. “But Professor Dumbledore said it would be possible to find a solution...”

“I see,” the professor stated quite disbelieving. “I shall talk to him about that as well and then you can discuss the details with Professor Babbling.” With the tip of her wand she filled in the girl’s timetable. “Here you go.”

“Thank you,” said Elena de Villiers and Professor McGonagall turned to Hermione.

“Granger, Granger...” Once more she shuffled through her stack of papers. “I have to say that I was very pleased about your O.W.L. results, Miss Granger,” she stated casually and Hermione blushed about the rare compliment. “Not that I expected anything less from you,” the professor added with a small smile and she blushed some more.

“Let’s see... Charms, Defence against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, Herbology, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes and Potions. Here you go.” She handed Hermione her timetable and moved on to Neville.

Hermione took a look at the parchment and saw that the first subject of the day was Runes.

“Looks like we share most courses,” stated the de Villiers girl and leaned over to look at Hermione’s timetable.

“Yes,” she replied with a cautious smile. “Want to go to Runes? I could show you the way...” She trailed off uncertainly, not sure whether the girl might prefer to walk with Greengrass.

But she nodded eagerly. “Sure, that would be nice.”

Hermione quickly said goodbye to Harry and Ron; then they got up and left the Great Hall to walk to the classroom.

 

* * *

 

“Why do you want to take up Runes?” Hermione asked curiously as they climbed the main staircase.

The other girl sighed. “Because it’s an interesting subject?” she offered with a wry smile.

“Sure,” Hermione nodded, “but if you never studied it before it will be quite... _challenging_ to catch up.” She regarded the girl with an enquiring look.

She sighed again. “I would expect so.”

That was all she said and Hermione didn’t want to pry, so she changed the topic. “About earlier... Ron can be quite blunt, but usually he doesn’t mean to be rude.” She gave the girl an apologetic smile.

Elena de Villiers shrugged her shoulders. “I guess he just dared to ask what everybody is wondering,” she said in a strained tone. “Me too, by the way.” She threw her a cautious glance.

Hermione stared at her. “So you really don’t know?” she couldn’t help but ask, curiously monitoring the other girl’s reaction.

A flash of pain flickered over her features, but she quickly controlled her expression. “No,” she stated quietly. “My mother never told me and now... well, I can’t ask her anymore.”

Hermione felt a pang of overwhelming pity. “I’m sorry about what happened to your mother,” she said genuinely. “That must’ve been hard.”

“Thank you.” The girl offered her a pained smile. “It was hard... it still is, but I’m lucky to have Gideon.” When she saw Hermione’s curious look, she elaborated. “My cousin took me in, you know.”

“Oh.” She was surprised by that news. “I thought you lived with your grandfather, or your aunt perhaps... you seemed close with Greengrass,” she pointed out.

To her astonishment the girl gave a short and very humourless laugh. “My grandfather might have condescended to make me a de Villiers, but he’s about as caring as a block of ice,” she said dryly. “And Aunt Evaine would never have me in her house.”

“Oh,” Hermione said again; she was shocked, yet slightly fascinated by the look behind the shiny facade of the powerful Pureblood family.

“Yeah,” the girl said with a wry smile. “I quickly understood why my mother avoided any contact with her family.”

While Hermione pondered her words they reached the classroom. The door was already open, but they were the first ones to arrive.

Professor Babbling looked up from behind her desk. “Good morning!” she greeted them with a smile, before she focused her attention on the new student. “You must be Elena de Villiers; the Headmaster informed me that you want to join my course.”

The girl nodded. “Yes.”

Professor Babbling eyed her sceptically. “I understand you never studied Runes before, is that correct?”

“Yes,” she nodded again.

The professor frowned. “The students of this course have studied my subject for three years now; you’ll never be able to catch up to them,” she informed her in a very disbelieving tone.

The girl gave Professor Babbling a polite smile. “I’m well aware how far your students are ahead of me,” she told her. “I don’t expect to catch up to them, but I’m very interested in the subject and would appreciate the chance to learn as much as I possibly can.” Another smile was bestowed upon the professor. “If you allow me to join your course I won’t be a bother.”

“Well...” Professor Babbling’s expression had turned slightly softer; she was obviously flattered by so much genuine interest in her subject. “We don’t want to keep anyone from learning,” she said with a small smile. “But you have to understand that it might take you a while to merely follow the lessons, even if you work very hard.”

Elena de Villiers nodded respectfully. “I’m fully aware of that, but I’m willing to give it my best shot. I’m a quick study, Professor.”

Professor Babbling regarded her thoughtfully. “All right,” she said then. “Let’s give it a try, shall we?”

When the girl nodded eagerly, the professor gave her another small smile. “Okay.” She turned professional. “I’d think it best to assign you a tutor, who can help you with the basics.” She looked at Hermione. “What about you, Granger? Are you up for it?”

“Sure,” Hermione answered, slightly taken aback.

“Are you certain?” Professor Babbling eyed her thoughtfully. “I assume your schedule is quite busy,” she stated with a knowing look. “If it’s too much for you I could ask Boot instead... or Zabini.”

From the corner of her eye Hermione saw the other girl flinch at the name of the latter. Curiously she turned to face her, but her expression betrayed nothing. With a shrug she focused her attention back on the professor. “It wouldn’t be a problem,” she said confidently.

“Then it’s settled,” Professor Babbling declared with a nod. She fixed her new student with a thoughtful look. “You’re going to need the basic literature. I can lend you the beginner’s textbook for a start, until you have the chance to purchase your own...”

The girl interrupted her. “No need for that, Professor; I already have all the books you cover over the years,” she pointed out and patted her shoulder bag.

_She must have been quite sure that the professor would allow her to join the course,_ mused Hermione. _But she can’t possibly have all the books in that bag._

Professor Babbling was smiling again. “Even better,” she stated, clearly taken with so much enthusiasm. “Take your seats, girls, your classmates should be joining us shortly.”

Hermione sat down in her usual spot. Elena de Villiers moved to join her, but hesitated. “Do you mind if I sit with you?” she asked politely.

She gave her a smile. “Not at all.”

The girl sat down next to her and opened her bag. To Hermione’s surprise she had indeed the whole stack of textbooks, each shrunken to the size of a stamp.

_I could have thought of that myself_ , she reckoned with a look at her own bulging book bag.

One by one their few classmates arrived. Hermione had expected that only a handful of people would continue the subject on N.E.W.T.’s level and her guess appeared to be right. Apart from her and the new girl there were only six other students.

The four Ravenclaws, among them Terry Boot, arrived first and sat down together. Next was Zabini. When the dark Slytherin spotted her neighbour, his eyes narrowed for a split-second; he sat down as far away from them as he possibly could. Daphne Greengrass arrived with the bell; to Hermione’s surprise she completely ignored Zabini, whom she usually sat with and took the seat next to her cousin.

“Morning,” Greengrass greeted the girl in a whisper, “survived the first night in the lion’s den?”

Elena de Villiers chuckled quietly. “It wasn’t so bad, actually,” she whispered back, before she turned to Hermione and threw her a quick smile.

 

* * *

 

 

An hour later they left the classroom with tons of homework.

“Babbling’s gone mad,” Greengrass complained with a deep sigh. “So much work after one lesson; she must be possessed by McGonagall or something.”

Hermione silently agreed with the Slytherin, but didn’t dare to speak up. In five years she had never exchanged a single word with Daphne Greengrass; casually walking with her from classroom to classroom felt quite weird.

_She only puts up with you for the sake of her cousin_ , a small voice piped up in her head. Hermione felt inclined to agree. When the bell had sounded the end of the lesson, Elena de Villiers had waited for her as if it was the most normal thing in the world; so Greengrass hadn’t had a choice but to accept her presence.

“So, what are the Gryffindor quarters like?” the Slytherin asked her cousin curiously. “I’ve always wondered.”

“Quite nice,” she answered. “A lot of red and gold, looks almost like home to me.”

Greengrass laughed. “Right; all that green and silver in Slytherin was really strange to me at first, but I got used to it quickly.”

Hermione’s interest was piqued. “Red and gold are the de Villiers family colours, aren’t they?” she interposed. “I’ve always wondered why that is, with practically the whole family being in Slytherin.” She had addressed the question to Elena, but to her amazement Greengrass answered her.

“It’s the other way around, Granger. Gryffindor was a de Villiers; that’s why your house colours are red and gold,” she pointed out. Then she perked an elegant brow. “I thought you would know stuff like that.”

“It’s not in _Hogwarts – A History_!” Hermione defended herself.

Greengrass chuckled. “I’m sure it isn’t. Gryffindor broke with the family, that’s why he changed his name.”

Hermione frowned. “But if Gryffindor house was founded by a de Villiers, why are most members of your family sorted into Slytherin?”

“Because we’re smart and sneaky!” Greengrass smirked.

Elena snorted. “Gideon said it’s for the sake of the element,” she pointed out. “Earth, you know; Slytherin was the earthbender among the founders.”

Hermione’s thirst for knowledge got the better of her. “I’ve read that the element earth runs in your family. Do you know any earthbenders?”

Elena’s face assumed a shuttered expression and Greengrass regarded her with a frown. “You ask a lot of questions, Granger,” she stated in a reserved manner.

Quickly Hermione backtracked. “I didn’t mean to pry, I was merely curious.”

Greengrass sighed. “Aren’t you always, Granger?” Yet her tone was more teasing than criticising.

None of the two girls answered her question though and she didn’t dare to ask again.

By now they had reached Snape’s new classroom and got in line with the students already waiting at the door. Suddenly Hermione noticed Elena tensing next to her and when she looked up she saw that Zabini was approaching them.

Studiously ignoring her and Elena the dark Slytherin focused his attention on Greengrass. “Can I talk to you for a moment?” His voice was deep and surprisingly pleasant, yet completely unfamiliar.

_I think I never heard him talk before_ , Hermione realised with a start.

Greengrass regarded him with a positively freezing look. “I’ve nothing to say to you, Zabini.”

“Please, Daphne. At least hear me out.” His tone was almost begging.

For a moment Greengrass scowled at him, but then she nodded. “Fine,” she said gruffly and followed him out of earshot.

Elena’s gaze was trained on Zabini’s retreating back; she was eying the Slytherin with an expression of obvious disgust. Hermione cleared her throat and the girl’s eyes focused on her. “What?”

“You don’t like Zabini?” she asked her curiously.

“Not particularly, no,” Elena answered with a frown.

Hermione pondered that for a while. She had never paid much attention to Zabini. The guy was like Malfoy’s shadow, always lurking behind him. But in all the years Malfoy had been tormenting her now he had never joined in. Greengrass hadn’t joined in either, but she was a rather noticeable appearance while Zabini had a remarkable talent to fade into the background.

_I wonder why Elena doesn’t like him_ , mused Hermione. But before she could bring herself to ask, Harry and Ron had joined them in line.

“How was Runes?” Harry asked without real interest; he was still avoiding to look at Elena.

Hermione sighed. “We got so much homework, it’s almost impossible to get through till Wednesday...”

“What a pain!” said Ron, pointedly yawning.

She glared at him. “Just wait! It bet Snape’s going to bury us in homework.”

“Who do we have here?” A cold, well-known voice drawled behind them.

Hermione tensed instinctively. _Malfoy!_ She braced herself and turned to face him, but to her surprise his attention wasn’t on her or Harry, but on Elena.

The girl regarded him with a reserved expression. “Is there anything you wanted, Malfoy?”

The Slytherin fixed her with a disdainful look. “Only one day in Gryffindor and you’re already fraternizing with Potter and the Mudblood.”

Hermione flinched; Harry and Ron were already reaching for their wands.

Elena took a step forward and narrowed her eyes at Malfoy. “What did you say?” Her tone was threatening.

Malfoy perked a brow. “I was merely expressing my disappointment about your poor choice of company,” he stated haughtily. “I assume you weren’t aware that Granger is a Mudblood?”

Harry growled; he and Ron drew their wands. Hermione tried to hold them back. “Really guys, it’s not worth it...”

But before they could do something to get themselves into trouble, Elena had seized Malfoy by the front of his robes.

“Listen to me, you pompous little git,” she snarled at him. “If I ever hear you call her that again I’ll rip you to shreds!” She gave him a hard shove against the chest and Malfoy stumbled backwards, looking utterly dumbfounded.

Pansy Parkinson screeched like a harpy and Crabbe and Goyle stepped forward, menacingly crackling with their knuckles. But Malfoy waved them all aside; he had drawn his wand.

“Seems you’re just as stupid as your Bloodtraitor-mother,” he spat at Elena. “Go on like that and you’ll meet the same unfortunate end!”

The girl remained surprisingly calm; she fixed Malfoy with a scathing glare. “My mother fought and died for what she believed in, for what was right! I’m proud of her!” She perked a brow. “Can you say the same of your parents?”

With a hiss Malfoy jumped forward, pointing his wand at her throat. “How dare you!”

“Back off, Malfoy!” Harry moved next to Elena, his wand aimed at the Slytherin.

Elena still hadn’t drawn her wand; she regarded Malfoy with an expression of utter contempt. “Go ahead,” she challenged him. “Kill me or torture me if you dare! Perhaps you’ll get the cell right next to your father!”

Malfoy looked as if he was about to jump at her throat, his wand forgotten.

But in that moment the door opened and Snape emerged from his classroom. “What is going on here?” he asked coldly. His dark eyes fell on Harry, who was still aiming his wand at Malfoy. “Potter, no fighting in the corridors! That’s twenty points from Gryffindor. Weasley, the same goes for you!” As usual Malfoy got away unscathed.

“Now, get in the classroom, all of you!” Snape demanded sternly.

Seething with fury Malfoy turned away from them.

Harry let his wand sink and turned to face Elena. “That was reckless,” he reprimanded her. “What were you thinking?”

Elena shrugged her shoulders. “You’re the one who lost twenty points,” she retorted dryly. “And you heard what he said about Hermione.”

They both turned to face her, their faces wearing identical expressions of concern. “Are you okay?” Elena asked her worriedly.

Hermione felt a sudden sense of affection for the girl. She drew in a shaky breath, trying to appear unfazed by Malfoy’s rudeness. “I’m fine,” she told them. “He does that all the time, I’m used to it by now. Let’s go in, shall we?”

They entered the classroom and Elena sat down next to her as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

 


	32. A Nasty Old Bat

“The Dark Arts are numerous, diverse, ever-changing and eternal,” drawled Professor Snape. “Fighting them is like battling a many-headed monster; every time you chop off a head a new one will grow, even fiercer and craftier than the old one."

Elena felt a cold shiver run down her spine. Snape’s introduction was quite enthralling; the students were listening spell-bound. Well, all but Malfoy apparently; she could feel the Slytherin’s piercing glare digging into her back.

 _You shouldn’t have provoked him like that_ , a timid little voice piped up in her head. It wasn’t entirely wrong; attracting attention in that manner wasn’t like her at all and due to her current situation definitely dangerous, but she hadn’t been able to help herself. _He shouldn’t have dared to insult Hermione_ , she thought irately, casting a quick glance at the girl who was sitting next to her. Elena had noticed how Malfoy’s rude words had affected her and somehow that had hit a nerve within her.

Despite their somewhat cool start she found that the girl grew on her quickly. There was something about Hermione Granger that was extraordinary, something that made Elena like her instinctively. And as someone who had been bullied for five years she just hadn’t been able to stand aside when Malfoy had attacked her.

 _It was still stupid_ , the voice grumbled in her head. _What if he had hexed you?_

There was no reassuring answer to that question. Theoretically she had been on top of her _Defence_ class at Ilvermorny, but since that fateful day in her first year when she had managed to knock out the teacher without even swinging her wand, Elena hadn’t been allowed to use magic in his lessons anymore.

Consequently her skills in practical defence were severely lacking, what secretly made her dread Snape’s lesson. Professor McGonagall had hinted that he might insist on testing her and there was simply no way that she would pass a practical test in the subject; all her theoretical knowledge wouldn’t help her with that.

 _It won’t help you with Malfoy either_ , the voice in her head pointed out helpfully. She could only hope that her new last name would deter the Slytherin from doing something drastic, or that somebody would be around to save her.

 _Like Harry Potter_. Elena hadn’t expected him to come to her rescue, but when Malfoy had threatened her Potter had stepped forward, wand at hand. Unfortunately he had paid for that with the loss of twenty house points, so she probably shouldn’t count on him next time. He had even reprimanded her for being reckless... _he_ , Mr Reckless himself.

Elena frowned. She still had no idea what had happened to Potter’s face yesterday. _Maybe Hermione knows_ , she mused thoughtfully. There had been something Potter had wanted to tell her this morning, but he had quickly shut his mouth when he had noticed Elena’s presence.

She sighed inwardly. Altogether her first meeting with the _Chosen One_ couldn’t have been more awkward. She hadn’t been able to refrain from blatantly staring at him and he had gaped back. And it had been straight downhill from there. At breakfast he had studiously avoided to even look in her direction and now that she had cost him twenty house points it was rather unlikely that he would want to have anything to do with her at all.

 _Whatever._ She had more pressing problems to worry about. Pretending to follow Snape with her eyes she cast a quick glance at Malfoy. The Slytherin was still glaring daggers at her. Instantly she focused her attention back on the professor.

Snape was showing pictures now, horrible pictures illustrating the effects of the Cruciatus Curse in gruesome detail. Elena shivered involuntarily. _Gross._

The next picture showed the bloody remains of a man that had been attacked by an Inferius. It caused Parvati Patil to screech in panic. “They haven’t been sighted, have they?” her roommate asked in a shrill voice. “Is it sure, is he using them?”

“The Dark Lord has been using Inferi in the past,” drawled Snape, “so you would do well to expect him using them again.” He strode through the classroom, his black cloak billowing behind him. “Now...”

A knock at the door startled the whole class; Parvati Patil even gave another little screech.

“Enter!” bellowed Snape, clearly annoyed about the interruption.

The door opened to reveal Daphne and Zabini.

“You’re late,” Snape stated coldly.

“Sorry Professor,” her cousin said with a disarming smile. “It won’t happen again.”

To Elena’s surprise the stern teacher let them off unscathed. “Sit,” he demanded curtly.

Zabini moved to sit down at the only remaining free table in the room and Daphne followed him slightly reluctant; she pushed her chair as far away from him as she possibly could.

 _Looks like he wasn’t able to get back into her good graces,_ Elena thought gleefully. For a while she studied her cousin and her former best friend thoughtfully. Daphne seemed to be paying undivided attention to Snape’s lesson, but Elena noticed that her posture was rather stiff and that she flinched whenever Zabini shifted his weight. The dark Slytherin was wearing an expression of absolute indifference; he gave the distinct impression that Snape, the lesson and everything else for that matter were far beneath him.

 _What in Merlin’s name is the deal with that guy?_ she wondered once more. Involuntarily her gaze was drawn to his left forearm, but obviously any sign of the Dark Mark that might or might not be burnt in there was hidden by the sleeve of his robes. With some effort she tore her eyes away from Zabini and forced herself to focus her attention back on the professor.

“I would assume that all of you are absolute beginners when it comes to the use of nonverbal spells,” Snape was just saying. “What is the advantage of a nonverbal spell?”

Next to her Hermione’s hand shot up. Elena thought that the answer was rather obvious, but since none of the other students raised a hand she decided to sit this one out. Snape took his time and looked at every single student before he condescended to ask Hermione.

“Our adversary has no warning what kind of magic we’re about to perform, which gives us a split-second advantage,” she answered correctly.

Snape didn’t seem pleased though; he criticised that the answer was too close to the book, what caused Malfoy and some other Slytherins to snigger.

The professor proceeded to lecture them that the use of nonverbal spells required total concentration and mental strength so that not any wizard was able to master them. As he said this his gaze was firmly trained on Potter, who glared back at him.

 _I knew he despised Snape_ , thought Elena. _Looks like that’s a mutual feeling._

Snape asked them to divide into pairs and practise the use of nonverbal spells.

Hermione turned to her and gave her a smile. “Want to practise with me?”

Hesitantly Elena nodded. This was the moment she had dreaded; she had to use spells she only knew in theory and on top of that she had to perform them without speaking. _Fabulous!_ she thought anxiously. _Just fabulous!_

The students got up from their seats and Snape flicked his wand to move tables and chairs aside so that they had room to duel. With shaky knees Elena drew her wand and moved to stand across from Hermione.

The professor strode over to them. “Not you, Miss de Villiers,” he said gruffly. “You’re just going to watch today.”

The whole class gaped at her. “Why doesn’t she have to do the exercise?” Malfoy grumbled audibly.

“It would seem that the educational standards of Ilvermorny Academy are severely lacking,” Snape said coldly, fixing Elena with a disdainful frown. “But what else can be expected of a school founded by a Muggle and a Half-Squib.”

She glared at him; she could hear some of her classmates snigger. Snape narrowed his eyes at her. “Before I haven’t convinced myself that you aren’t posing a danger for the other students you won’t use magic in my class. You can watch from the corner.”

Elena had no choice but to step aside and move into the corner he was indicating. She felt somewhat relieved that she didn’t have to do the exercise, but the manner in which Snape had bawled her out made her seethe with anger. _Slimy, greasy-haired bat!_ she thought irately.

Under the watchful eyes of the professor the other students began to practise. Everyone seemed to have problems with the nonverbal spells; a lot of her classmates were cheating by muttering the incantations under their breath.

Hermione was the first to deflect a curse without saying a word; she had partnered with an ungainly Gryffindor boy whose name Elena didn’t know. Snape completely ignored the feat; he was busy watching Malfoy duel Zabini.

Or rather Malfoy _trying_ to duel Zabini. He appeared to have some trouble performing the spell without speaking; his face was slightly red from the effort and he grimaced as if he was trying to lay an egg. At the sight of him Elena chuckled quietly.

Zabini was looking bored; he held his wand rather lazily as he waited for Malfoy to finally get the spell done.

After Snape had watched for a while he decided to intervene. “This won’t do, Mr Malfoy,” he said quietly. “Let me show you how it’s done.” He motioned for the boy to step aside and took his place. “Ready, Zabini?”

The dark Slytherin nodded; his whole posture had changed and he had raised his wand, seemingly alert now.

Without speaking Snape flicked his wand and Zabini reacted in a flash; with a swing of his own wand he deflected the professor’s spell without uttering a word.

“Very good,” commented Snape. “Now try it yourself.”

Zabini managed the task at the first attempt and the teacher bestowed a small smile upon him. “Excellent, take twenty points for Slytherin.”

 _Why does he get points and Hermione doesn’t?_ Elena thought angrily.

Snape moved on and went to watch Potter and Weasley. The latter seemed to be having a similar problem like Malfoy and the professor quickly lost patience with him. “Pathetic, Weasley. Let me show you.”

He raised his wand at Potter who apparently panicked and yelled “Protego!” The shield charm was so strong that Snape staggered backwards. With a dark look he straightened himself. “Do you remember me telling you that we are practising nonverbal spells, Potter?”

“Yes,” Potter said stiffly.

“Yes, _sir_ ,” Snape reprimanded him sternly.

“There’s no need to call me _sir_ , Professor,” retorted Potter.

Some students gasped at his words; Elena couldn’t help but admire his cheek.

“Detention,” Snape said irately. “Even the _Chosen One_ isn’t allowed to get cheeky with me. Saturday night, my office.” And with that he turned his back on Potter.

 

* * *

 

Soon after that the bell sounded the end of the lesson. Elena was just about to leave the classroom with Hermione when Snape called her back.

“A word, Miss de Villiers!”

With an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach she turned back to the professor; Hermione shot her a worried look and made a move as if to wait for her, but Snape shooed her out of the room and firmly closed the door behind the last student.

Then he turned to fix her with a scowl. “It appears you didn’t take a practical exam in my subject, yet the Headmaster insists I allow you to join this course – having the right last name has certainly many perks, hasn’t it?”

He frowned angrily and narrowed his dark eyes at her. “I might have no choice but to follow the Headmaster’s wish... but you shouldn’t make the mistake and foolishly assume you’re going to receive a special treatment here.”

Suddenly he raised his wand at her. “Prepare yourself!”

Startled Elena instinctively backed away a few steps.

“Draw your wand!” Snape demanded gruffly.

“Professor, I don’t know how to duel,” she protested weakly. “I’ve never...”

“I asked you to draw your wand!” Snape hissed through his teeth.

Elena had no choice but to do as he told her. For a moment the professor regarded her watchfully, then he flicked his wand and let his wrath rain down upon her.

Silently he hit her with curse after curse; since she had no chance of deflecting his spells she tried to jump out of the way – with rather poor success. After he had stunned her three times in a row Snape finally had enough of his game.

“Pathetic,” he stated coldly, staring down on her over his hooked nose. “Absolutely pathetic. You might have your mother’s arrogance, but you certainly don’t have her talent.”

 _I’m not going to cry_ , Elena told herself. Her whole body was hurting from hitting the floor several times, but she forced herself to get up and meet Snape’s glare defiantly.

He eyed her with obvious contempt. “I might be forced to accept your presence in my class, but I won’t have you endangering the other students with your incompetence,” he drawled quietly. “No magic in this class for you, Miss de Villiers. Now get out of my sight.”

Seething with fury she gritted her teeth and turned her back on Snape, storming from the room.

 

* * *

 

In a daze Elena wandered through unfamiliar halls and corridors. She had no clue where she was going but she found that she couldn’t have cared less. _Slimy, old bat!_ she thought irately. Against her firm resolve her eyes were filling with tears of helpless fury. She had never been treated like that by a teacher; she had no idea what to do about it.

 _You could just drop the course_ , a timid little voice proposed in her head. That way she would escape Snape and his hatred, but she wouldn’t learn anything about Defence anymore.

 _Snape’s lessons won’t help you anyway, he forbade you to use magic, remember?_ the voice pointed out.

Elena gritted her teeth in frustration. Now she had finally overcome the problem with her magical outbursts, but still wouldn’t learn how to defend herself. _I can’t believe it!_ she thought angrily, wiping her hand over her eyes to get rid of the annoying tears that were blurring her vision.

A bit down the corridor she saw a door that was signposted as a ladies’ room. Breathing a sigh of relief she flung the door open and bumped right into another girl who was just about to exit.

“Elena?” The familiar voice of her cousin sounded worried. “What happened?”

“Snape,” Elena stated curtly and walked over to the sink to have a look at her face in the mirror. Her eyes were red and puffy; it was obvious that she had been crying. _Fabulous,_ she thought wryly. _Bloody fabulous._

Daphne had followed her. “Are you okay?” she asked cautiously, regarding her with an expression of concern.

“I’m fine,” Elena tried to assure her.

Her cousin perked a brow, not looking convinced at all.

“It’s just... Snape was a little... _harsh_ ,” she mumbled quietly.

Understanding spread over Daphne’s features. “I see,” she stated with a frown. “He doesn’t particularly like Gryffindors.”

Elena snorted. _I don’t think that’s the main problem._ But she kept her mouth shut and opened the tap to wash her face.

“Listen,” said Daphne, “I have to get back to Arithmancy now, but after lunch I’ve got a free period. How about you?”

“I think I’m free, too,” she answered, quickly rummaging through her bag for the timetable. “Yes,” she confirmed after a look at the parchment.

“Perfect,” stated her cousin. “Meet me in the Great Hall after lunch. Then you can tell me all about Snape.”

“Okay,” agreed Elena, feeling slightly better. “See you then.”

Daphne gave her an encouraging smile and turned to leave the toilet.

 _At least she doesn’t seem to hate me for being a Gryffindor._ Elena turned back to the mirror. Her eyes still looked a little red. She opened the tab again and splashed her face with some more cold water, then she dried off with a paper towel.

 _What now?_ A glance at her watch told her that she still had some time to kill before lunch, so she resolved to take a look around to try and get better acquainted with her new school.

 

* * *

 

When the bell sounded the begin of the lunch break Elena followed the stream of students headed down towards the Great Hall. Her stomach was rumbling; at least the confrontation with Snape hadn’t ruined her appetite.

Hermione was already sitting at the Gryffindor table and waved at her when she entered the hall. As soon as she had sat down next to her the other girl burst out with a question she had clearly been dying to ask. “What did Snape want?”

Elena sighed resignedly and helped herself to a piece of roast beef and some mashed potatoes. “He wanted to talk to me,” she said evasively.

“About what?” Hermione was persistent.

When Elena looked up from her plate she saw that all the Gryffindors around them were eying her curiously. With a frown she turned to Hermione and lowered her voice to a hushed whisper. “You heard what Professor McGonagall said this morning, about me not taking a practical in Defence?”

When the other girl nodded, she continued. “Well, Snape forbade me to use magic in his class. Apparently he’s convinced that I’m a danger for the other students.”

Hermione’s eyebrows shot up and all but disappeared behind her bushy fringe. “He can’t do that!” she exclaimed in outrage.

“Of course he can,” Elena replied bitterly. “He’s the teacher after all.”

“Still, you should go and talk to Professor McGonagall,” Hermione said with a frown. “Maybe she can convince him to reconsider...”

Elena shook her head. “He won’t do that, even if I go to Dumbledore himself; he made that pretty clear.” She scowled at the memory. “He’s a nasty old bat!”

“Talking about Snape?” Unnoticed by her Potter had stepped towards them; he and Weasley sat down across from Hermione and her.

“Yeah,” she replied curtly, taking out her anger by vigorously cutting her roast beef into pieces.

“Snape forbade Elena from using magic in his class,” Hermione informed the boys.

“Ywou edo zat?” Trying to speak despite his mouth being stuffed with food Weasley sprayed them with mashed potatoes.

Elena eyed him with mild disgust. “Beg your pardon?”

He swallowed and repeated his question. “Why would he do that?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “I didn’t take a practical in Defence.”

“Why not?” Potter had narrowed his eyes at her.

“I wasn’t allowed to,” Elena told him evasively.

He didn’t look like her answer had satisfied his curiosity, but didn’t ask again.

“So what are you going to do?” Weasley wanted to know; this time his mouth was only half-full. “Drop Defence?”

Elena frowned at him. “I don’t think that’s a subject one should drop, especially nowadays.” She couldn’t help but cast a quick glance at Potter; he was scowling and merely picking at his food.

“Anyway,” Hermione piped up, “we never had so much homework after only one morning.” She seemed quite eager to change the topic. “Thank Merlin that we have a free period after lunch, so we can get started on it.”

Potter and Weasley groaned simultaneously. Hermione gave them a disapproving look and turned to regard Elena questioningly. “What about you?”

With a hint of regret she shook her head. “I can’t; I’ve agreed to meet with Daphne.”

“Oh,” said Hermione, looking slightly disappointed.

Weasley snorted, spraying the table with his dessert in the process. “Why are you meeting Slytherins?”

Elena narrowed her eyes at him. “Daphne is my cousin,” she informed him stiffly. Said cousin chose that moment to float over to them; at her approach Weasley’s eyes widened and he gulped audibly.

“Are you ready to go?” Daphne asked her and bestowed a reserved smile on her lunch companions.

“Sure.” She got up from the bench. “See you later,” she said to the others. Hermione gave her a small smile, but the boys didn’t react. With a shrug Elena turned to follow her cousin from the hall.

 

* * *

 

When they left the Great Hall Daphne turned towards the massive portals. “Are you okay with going outside? I need some air.”

Elena agreed with a nod and they left the castle, heading down to the lake. It was a misty day and the sun was hiding behind low hanging clouds; there weren’t many students around.

“So,” Daphne said when they were out of earshot, “what was up with Snape?”

She sighed and told her the story, but skipped over the part how the professor had attacked her; she simply didn’t feel comfortable sharing that.

Her cousin frowned thoughtfully. “Why weren’t you allowed to take that exam?”

After short hesitation Elena confessed that she hadn’t been permitted to use magic in the subject since she had attacked the teacher by mistake in her first year at Ilvermorny.

Daphne gasped. “You weren’t allowed to use magic since your first year?” she asked with wide eyes. “But how did you practise the spells then?”

She gulped. “I didn’t,” she said quietly. “I only know Defence by theory.”

Her cousin looked horrified. “You don’t know how to defend yourself?”

“No.” She averted her eyes.

“But your mother was an auror...” Daphne trailed off.

Elena sighed. “Yes... but at Ilvermorny we had to leave our wands at school when we left for the holidays,” she pointed out. “So Mum had no chance to teach me anything, and I didn’t learn it at school... I guess I won’t learn it here either.” She couldn’t keep her voice from turning slightly bitter towards the end.

“But you need to know how to defend yourself!” Daphne said urgently.

She shrugged. “Well, it’s not like I can force Snape to teach me...”

“Forget him, then! Ask somebody else...” For a moment her cousin looked thoughtful. “What about Potter?”

Elena raised her eyebrows in astonishment. “What about him?”

“Apparently he’s a good teacher,” Daphne stated with a shrug. “Last year we had an awful professor for Defence, she forbade us the use of magic, too. So Potter and some other students founded a secret club – he taught them a lot of defensive stuff,” she pointed out.

“Really?” Elena was quite surprised by that story. _I never saw anything about that club,_ she mused thoughtfully. She did recall the awful professor, however. _The toad-faced hag with the nasty preference for torturing her students_ , she thought darkly.

Her cousin was eying her expectantly. “Are you going to ask him?”

“I don’t know.” Uncertainly she shook her head. “I’m not sure whether he would want to help me, you know? We didn’t hit it off that well...” _Actually we didn’t hit it off at all._

Daphne raised an elegant brow. “Are you sure about that?” she asked sceptically. “You sat with him at breakfast and during lunch as well... and Tracey just told me all about how you confronted Draco because of Granger.” There was a little hint of reproach in her tone.

Elena frowned at her. “Malfoy called her a _Mudblood_ , Daphne! I know he’s your friend, but I’m not okay with his dubious opinions.” She gave her cousin a challenging look.

She averted her eyes. “Me neither, but still... It’s simply not smart to oppose him,” she said quietly. “He can get quite _vengeful_ , you know. Have you seen Potter’s face yesterday?”

Elena gasped. “That was _Malfoy_?”

Daphne nodded. “But Potter practically asked for it,” she said somewhat defensively. “He sneaked into his compartment and tried to eavesdrop on them!”

 _Yes, that sounds just like Potter!_ she thought angrily. _And he tells me not to be so reckless!_

Her cousin shrugged. “Anyway, the point is that you shouldn’t mess with Draco.” She gave her a pointed look. “Especially if you don’t know how to defend yourself.”

Elena sighed. “I know it was stupid,” she admitted reluctantly. “I just couldn’t help myself.”

Daphne chuckled. “I see; it’s the famous Gryffindor bravery showing. I knew you would get on with Potter.”

She rolled her eyes at her cousin. _Not so sure about that._

“Look, you really need to work on your defensive skills.” Daphne turned serious again. “Britannia is far more dangerous than the states; _you_ of all people should know that.”

Elena nodded sombrely. _Yeah, I’ve seen it with my own eyes, and more than once..._

“I assume you could ask Gideon, but it’s still a few months till the holidays start,” Daphne thought aloud. “I would try and teach you myself, but I’m not that good at Defence...” She trailed off and her eyes narrowed. “Whenever I had trouble with a new spell I _used_ to ask Blaise for help,” she said quietly.

At the mention of Zabini’s name Elena felt herself tense. She waited expectantly, but Daphne said nothing else; her cousin’s expression betrayed concern and hurt.

“What did he want this morning?” she asked cautiously, half-expecting Daphne to brush her off with a dry remark.

Slowly her cousin shook her head. “He says that he wants to talk, but he’s not talking to me at all!” Her voice sounded pained. “Blaise always used to tell me everything, but now there’s something that he’s hiding,” she said quietly.

“You mean the fact that he’s a Death Eater?” The words were out of her mouth before Elena could stop herself.

Daphne flinched violently. “Don’t say that!” Frantically she looked around as if she feared that someone could eavesdrop on them; but since they were halfway around the lake by now there was no one in sight.

“Why not?” she asked defiantly.

Decidedly her cousin shook her head. “I don’t believe it – I can’t believe it! I’ve known Blaise all my life, there’s no way he’s a Death Eater!”

Elena gave her pointed look. “If you’re so sure about that, then why are you afraid of him?”

Daphne flinched again. “I don’t know,” she said hesitantly. “There are moments when I see something flashing in his eyes, something _dark_... it scares the hell out of me. And a second later he’s just Blaise again...” She shook her head. “But then he always was a good actor.”

Frowning thoughtfully Elena pondered her cousin’s words. “But if he’s not a Death Eater, what’s his bloody problem then? And there _was_ something on his left forearm...”

“I don’t know,” Daphne said worriedly. “I’ve been racking my brains for weeks now, but I don’t have the slightest clue.” Once more she shook her head. “About his arm though...” She lowered her voice to a hushed whisper and gave her a questioning look. “Do you know what he is? About his... _talents_?”

Elena nodded darkly. _Yes, I know that all too well._

Her cousin gave her a pointed look. “Well, I _think_ it could’ve been some kind of rune.”

She stared at her. “Why don’t you just ask him?”

Daphne sighed. “He’s my _best friend_ , Elena. I guess I’m still hoping that he’ll come around and tell me the truth of his own accord.”

Elena had to suppress a disbelieving snort. _Daphne can wait until hell freezes over_ , she thought bitterly, _Zabini is completely nuts._ She gave her cousin a sceptical look. “Then ask his roommates, for all I care. They must get to see his arm at some point!”

Daphne frowned at her. “If I start asking about his arm people will know exactly what I’m after. They’re Slytherins, for Merlin’s sake!”

She fixed her with a piercing stare. “Listen Daphne, if Zabini is a Death Eater he has to be dealt with. You heard Dumbledore’s speech yesterday; if we notice something suspicious we’re supposed to report it!”

In a flash her cousin had grabbed her arm. “You can’t tell anyone,” she said urgently, giving her a pleading look. “Please Elena, do it for me!”

She narrowed her eyes at her. “I can’t promise you that.”

“Then give me some time at least,” begged Daphne. “A few days so that I can try and learn the truth. Please!” She looked close to tears now.

Elena felt a sudden rush of pity for her cousin. “Fine,” she agreed reluctantly. “But Daphne – please be careful, okay?” _Zabini is dangerous,_ she added silently.

Daphne seemed immensely relieved. “Blaise would never hurt me,” she said decidedly. “And he’s not a Death Eater.”

Elena sighed. “Let’s hope you’re right about that.”

 

* * *

 

 **Author’s note:** Snape’s first lesson is quite close to the respective scene from the book (Chapter 9 of _Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince_ by J.K. Rowling); I also borrowed a few lines of dialogue from that chapter.

 


	33. Failure on All Fronts

Blaise had dragged himself through the morning in a haze of fatigue. After he had returned to his bed last night he hadn’t been able to find any sleep, tossing and turning until dawn had filled the dorm with greenish twilight.

He had forced himself to get up, driven by the prospect that breakfast would provide him with a chance to talk to Daphne. But as soon as she had seen him entering the Great Hall his best friend had practically fled the Slytherin table and vanished once more.

His appetite had deserted him and Blaise had contented himself with a cup of coffee, hoping in vain that the caffeine would help to revive his spirits. The sight of Draco wrapped around Pansy hadn’t lightened his mood either, and so he had been rather relieved when it was time to go to class.

Yet in Professor Babbling’s classroom the next unpleasant sight had already been awaiting him: _the girl_ , surprisingly sitting with Granger. It certainly had been to be expected that she took the course; only natural that someone with her powers studied runes. He had sat down as far away from her as he possibly could and resolved to simply ignore her presence.

Daphne had delayed her arrival until the bell had sounded the begin of the lesson and then she had studiously ignored the free seat next to him and sat down with her blasted cousin. The whole time she hadn’t looked in his direction even once and afterwards she had opted to walk to Snape’s classroom with _her_ , despite the fact that Granger had been tagging along at the girl’s other side.

Seriously alarmed by the shocking realisation that his best friend now even seemed to prefer the company of know-it-all-Granger over his own, Blaise had decided to act at once and asked Daphne to speak with him in private. Reluctantly she had agreed, but their _conversation_ had easily been the most frustrating experience of his day.

Daphne hadn’t said a single word; she had just stood there and watched as he had rambled on and on without being able to finally get through to her. At first she had listened with polite interest, but then her expression had changed from resignation over concern to something that had almost looked like _fear_.

 _Why would she be afraid of me_? he wondered once more, apathetically pushing his lunch around on his plate.

“What’s wrong with the roast beef, Blaise?” Draco asked next to him. “Not up to your high standards?”

With some effort he dragged his mind back to the present and answered the question with a shrug. “Not hungry.”

“Really?” Draco perked a brow. “You didn’t eat anything at breakfast either.”

He frowned at him. “Who are you? My mother?” Not that his _dear_ mother had ever cared about his food intake.

Malfoy smirked; then he turned to scowl at the Gryffindor table. “I can’t believe the nerve of that bitch,” he said angrily.

Blaise, who had assumed that he was glaring at Potter as usual, was slightly taken aback by his wording. “What?” He followed Draco’s line of sight; he _was_ glaring in Potter’s general direction, but his eyes were trained on the girl who sat across from the _Chosen One_.

 _Of course it’s her_. _Who else_? he thought darkly. _But what has she done to annoy Malfoy?_

“Not a day in Gryffindor and she’s already best friends with Scarhead and the Mudblood,” Draco muttered irately. “Did you hear what she said to me?”

Blaise raised his brows. “No. Should I?”

With a disdainful snort from Draco’s other side Pansy chipped in. “Always so aloof, Zabini – you’re too wrapped up in your arrogance to take note of anything.”

He gave her a scathing look in response, but Malfoy chose to ignore his girlfriend’s statement, still busy glaring daggers at _the girl_. “She insulted my parents,” he drawled in a low voice, furiously clenching his fists.

Blaise perked a brow. “And why would she do that?”

Draco snarled and gritted his teeth, apparently seething with anger.

“Malfoy was so kind to inform her about Granger’s bloodstatus,” Nott piped up without being asked. “Yet she didn’t seem to appreciate the gesture.”

“She’s just as stupid as her Bloodtraitor-mother,” Draco hissed through his teeth.

Nott sniggered. “She even threatened him!” he stated with glee.

Draco snarled again and Pansy shot Nott an angry glare. “Shut up, Theo!”

He eyed her with a sneer. “Look at you, Pansy – quite the devoted girlfriend! Too bad you were only his second choice, right?”

Flinching violently Pansy sucked in a breath; she turned to face Draco. When he didn’t object to Nott’s words her eyes filled with tears; she jumped to her feet and stormed from the hall.

“That was low, even for you, Nott,” Blaise stated with a frown.

Nott just shrugged lazily. “It’s the truth, isn’t it? We all know who he was truly after. A pity that she got engaged to someone else...”

“Shut up!” Draco spat at him. His face was flushed with fury now, his grey eyes glittering menacingly.

Nott, who had always been blessed with a healthy survival instinct, saw the signs and backtracked quickly, raising his hands in surrender. “No offense intended, Malfoy!”

When Draco continued to glare daggers at him, he got to his feet. “I leave you to it then,” he bleated meekly and turned to flee.

 _Well, one can’t say this lunch lacked a certain entertainment value,_ Blaise mused dryly. He threw a cautious glance at Draco, who was staring into space now.

Blaise cleared his throat and he flinched, turning to face him. “Huh?”

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

Draco shrugged. “Never been better.” His gaze was drawn by someone at the other end of the table and Blaise knew without looking who sat there.

He sighed resignedly. “It wasn’t her choice, you know,” he said quietly, lowering his voice so that no one would overhear his words. “Her family made her do it.”

Pain flickered in Draco’s eyes. “I know,” he said dully. “It doesn’t make it any better though.”

“I guess it doesn’t.” Blaise frowned and turned to follow his gaze.

Daphne was just getting up from the bench, she said goodbye to Tracey and turned to leave the hall. At least he had thought she was leaving, but midway she took a turn and headed for the Gryffindor table.

Involuntarily Blaise gritted his teeth. _Seriously?_ Next to him Draco hissed angrily.

They watched as Daphne approached her blasted cousin, even going so far as to smile at Potter and his entourage; before the girl said goodbye to them and followed Daphne from the hall.

“Why does she put up with _her_?” Draco asked in a tone of utter disbelief.

Blaise snorted. _My thoughts exactly, mate, my thoughts exactly..._ He followed the girls with his eyes until they were out of sight, then he turned back to Draco.

He had clenched his fists again. “I’m going to make her pay!” he declared hotly. “How dare she threaten me! _Me_!”

Blaise sighed. “Look, mate; I understand the impulse, I really do, but you should stay as far away from that girl as you possibly can,” he told him seriously.

Draco raised his brows. “Why? I’m not afraid of her!”

“Well, you should be.” He gave him a pointed look. “She’s _dangerous_ , if you catch my drift.”

Malfoy’s eyes went wide. “You mean she’s – ”

Blaise nodded. “And powerful, believe me.”

Draco frowned thoughtfully. “How do you know?”

“She let me know,” he said vaguely.

Malfoy narrowed his eyes at him. “Why would she do that?”

“I don’t know,” Blaise answered truthfully, shaking his head. _Unfortunately I don’t have the slightest clue._

 

* * *

 

Back in the common room he tried to get through some of his already alarming amount of homework. But he found that he wasn’t able to concentrate properly, every few minutes his thoughts would drift off by their own accord.

Draco hadn’t accompanied him back to the dungeons. He had declared that there was something he needed to take care of, but when Blaise had asked what it was, he had just smiled mysteriously and stayed quiet.

 _I bet it’s about his special little project,_ he mused darkly. Draco’s strict refusal to accept his help was a problem he hadn’t foreseen. When Malfoy had first told him about his task he had practically begged for his support – at least by Malfoy standard.

 _Maybe the Dark Lord forbade him to tell anyone_ , he pondered. That would certainly make sense; a secret was only worth as much as the people who knew about it. On the other hand though... the Dark Lord had many supporters in Slytherin house, fanatics who would rather die than betray him. If he had decided to keep them in the dark, Draco’s task must be of a delicate nature.

Blaise frowned. _But if the matter is that delicate, why let Malfoy handle it?_ Draco was his best friend, but he had no illusions about his character. Malfoy was smart, but tended to rashness; he wouldn’t think things through, but act on impulse. And he definitely wasn’t a fanatic.

His father might have spoon-fed him with all that Pureblood-supremacy crap; but even if Draco paraded around calling people _Mudbloods_ and _Bloodtraitors_ , Blaise didn’t take him for a true believer. He would never lay down his life for an ideology.

 _Why in Merlin’s name was he chosen?_ he wondered sceptically. _And what’s his bloody task?_

But even though he racked his brains Blaise didn’t come up with a single clue, and when it was time to go to Potions he was none the wiser.

 

* * *

 

When he entered the dungeon that had been Snape’s classroom for so long, Draco was already sitting with Nott of all people.

 _Looks like both my best friends no longer attach any importance to sitting with me in class_ , he thought wryly.

At least Slughorn appeared quite happy to see him; the only one he greeted with more enthusiasm was the _Chosen One_ himself. There were only a few students who had decided to take Potions on N.E.W.T.’s level; four Ravenclaws, Potter and his two sidekicks, a Hufflepuff whose name Blaise had never learned, Draco, Nott and himself.

 _I thought Daphne wanted to continue with Potions, too_ , he was just thinking when she floated into the room, accompanied by none other than her blasted cousin. Blaise had to suppress a groan of frustration. _She’s everywhere!_

As he had already been expecting by now, Daphne ignored him completely and sat down with the other girl. Slughorn gave them a curious look, seemingly astonished by their astounding resemblance.

Then the professor cleared his throat and started the lesson; apparently not expecting any more students. Rather unusually he had already prepared a few potions that he wanted to show them. It was a chance for know-it-all-Granger to show off again; _of course_ she was able to identify every single potion and name their effects. Slughorn seemed deeply impressed; he asked for her name and rewarded her with twenty points for Gryffindor. Blaise was quite sure that the _Slug-Club_ had just found a new member.

The last potion the professor showed them was none other than _Felix Felicis_ , the famous liquid-luck potion. When Slughorn announced that he would bestow a small phial on the student who could manage to prepare an effective _Draught of Living Death,_ the change of mood in the class was instant. Even Draco, who had spent the first minutes of the lesson whispering with Nott and sniggering about Granger, seemed to be following Slughorn’s instructions closely now.

It was obvious that Malfoy wanted that lucky day at all costs. _What do you need unfailing luck for_? Blaise mused thoughtfully. _Could it be that your special project isn’t going so well?_

In any case, this was an opportunity and he was determined to seize it. He had a knack for potions, even Granger wasn’t better, and he was certainly able to beat Malfoy any time. The potion’s recipe proved to be the most complex thing he had ever tried to brew though. Within minutes his classmates were sweating and swearing under their breath, even Granger seemed to be having trouble.

Twenty minutes in they were startled by a loud bang; somehow Daphne had managed to make her potion explode. While she hastily tried to extinguish the flames shooting from her cauldron with a gush of water from her wand, her cousin shook her head at her.

“You were meant to chop the valerian, not crush it,” the girl said in a resigned tone.

Slughorn hurried over as fast he possibly could. “What seems to be the problem here?”

Daphne turned to face him with a disarming smile. “I’m inconsolable, Professor; it appears I didn’t read the instructions properly – I’m so clumsy!” Another dazzling smile was bestowed on the teacher.

Slughorn looked slightly dazed; blinking several times he cleared his throat. “Oh, don’t worry my dear, that happens to the best of us,” he said charmingly and returned her smile. Behind his back Daphne’s cousin rolled her eyes.

“But you do look somewhat familiar,” Slughorn stated, regarding Daphne with obvious interest. “May I ask your name?”

“Daphne Greengrass, Sir.”

At her last name the professor pricked up his ears. “Any relation to Evaine Greengrass, the current director of _Gringotts_?” he asked eagerly.

“That would be my mother, Professor,” Daphne graciously informed him.

“Oho!” Slughorn beamed at her before turning to face her cousin. “And this must be your sister?”

“My cousin, Sir,” Daphne pointed out with an amused grin. “Elena de Villiers.”

“De Villiers!” Slughorn’s eyes went wide. “But then you must be Catherine’s daughter!”

The girl gave him a small nod; she was eying the professor with a rather reserved expression.

“Horrible what happened to her,” stated Slughorn, slowly shaking his head. “It saddened me to hear of her death; she was an exceptional witch.”

“You knew her, Sir?” the girl asked him cautiously.

“Of course, my dear, of course!” Slughorn nodded vigorously. “She was one of my absolute favourites!”

Blaise sighed resignedly. _That makes two more additions to the Slug-Club... Fabulous!_

 

* * *

 

“And time is... up!” shouted Slughorn. “No more stirring, please!”

Blaise was rather satisfied with the result of his efforts. The potion might not be _‘clear as water’_ like the textbook demanded, but there was only a faint tinge of pink left.

The professor made his way through the classroom, having a close look at the students’ potions. He started with the Ravenclaws, went to Draco and Nott, before he came to him.

“That looks good, Blaise,” he stated with an appreciating nod. “Just let me have a look at the others first...”

Since Daphne had no potion to show him, he bent over her cousin’s cauldron next.

“What have we here!” he exclaimed happily, giving the girl a bright smile. “Almost perfect, my dear, very impressive!”

She smiled lightly, feigning modesty.

Blaise gritted his teeth in anger. _Damn it!_ Of course it just had to be _her_ to outdo him.

“But we want to be fair,” said Slughorn and walked over to the remaining students. “Everybody gets a chance!”

He awarded Weasley’s cauldron with a pitying look and basically ignored the Hufflepuff. Granger got an approving nod, before he came to Potter last.

“Merlin’s beard! Perfect, absolutely perfect!” Slughorn’s face showed an expression of disbelieving joy. “We have a winner!” he shouted through the dungeon, before he proceeded to tell Potter that he clearly had inherited his mother’s talent.

 _Potter?!_ Blaise was utterly stunned. _He sucks at Potions!_

Helplessly he had to watch as Slughorn presented the Gryffindor with a small phial filled with golden liquid. The _Chosen One_ looked very smug when he put it in his pocket.

 _Damn it!_ Inwardly Blaise swore furiously. _Damn Potter, damn the blasted girl, damn all those bloody Gryffindors!_

 

* * *

 

 

After dinner he returned to the common room to deal with his rapidly growing pile of homework. He was alone again. Draco had disappeared once more claiming he had _something_ to take care of; this time Blaise hadn’t even bothered to ask.

Daphne was sitting with Tracey at one of the tables by the fire. For a moment he pondered whether he should try his luck with her again, but then he decided against it and sat down in a corner. He definitely wasn’t in the mood for another cold rebuff. If only he knew what her bloody problem was!

It was simply frustrating. Of course he had expected her to be angry with him for abandoning her during the whole engagement-crisis, but this went far beyond that; he was sure of it. Daphne wasn’t one to hold a grudge, especially with him. She had always forgiven him, no matter what, but this time Blaise wasn’t so sure that would happen. Not when she was looking at him with fear in her eyes.

 _Why would she be afraid of me?_ The question had been pestering him since their unfruitful conversation this morning.

 _Damn it!_ He couldn’t remember ever having such a miserable first day back at Hogwarts. Both his best friends seemed to have deserted him, he wasn’t making any progress with his plan; and of top of it all there was the blasted _girl_ , always hovering around, taunting him with her mere presence. And he still wasn’t any closer to coming up with a strategy of how to deal with her. _Bloody Hell!_

With some effort Blaise pushed all these gloomy thoughts aside to try and concentrate on his homework. The essay for Runes was quickly done, as well as the translations Professor Babbling had set them. He decided to do the tiring reading later and get started on Snape’s assignment instead. But that proved quite difficult and soon he found his thoughts wandering again.

Why had Snape asked the girl to stand aside when they had practised nonverbal spells? He had uttered something about her being a safety risk... What had he meant by that?

 _Damn it all!_ Blaise gritted his teeth in frustration. He had seriously enough of brooding for today. _What I need is something to take my mind of it for a while,_ he thought moodily, his eyes roaming around the room. The choice of distractions was rather underwhelming, but one of the prettier seventh years was throwing him hopeful glances.

 _She’ll have to do_ , he decided. He gave her the faintest hint of a smile and she returned it eagerly. _What’s her name again? Verena? Veronica? Something like that..._

He perked a brow in suggestion and she gave him a small nod, before packing up her stuff and leaving the room in direction of the dorms. Blaise waited a few minutes before he got up and followed her.

 

* * *

 

 **Author’s note:** Slughorn’s first lesson is quite close to the respective scene from the book (Chapter 9 of _Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince_ by J.K. Rowling); I also borrowed a few lines of dialogue from that chapter.

 


	34. A New Friend

“How did you do it?” Hermione fixed Harry with an enquiring look as soon as he had sat down for dinner across from her.

He rolled his eyes. “I told you – pure luck, I guess.”

Hermione snorted. “There’s no such thing as _luck_ when it comes to Potions,” she told him patronizingly. “Either you’re good at it or you aren’t. And let’s be honest, Harry – you’re certainly not some kind of potions genius _._ ”

“Uar muff uarnot est,” Ron mumbled with his mouth stuffed with bacon-and-pasta bake.

Slightly annoyed she narrowed her eyes at him. “Pardon?”

“He’s right,” Harry answered in his stead. “You’re just angry that you weren’t the best _for once_.”

His words were not too far off the mark and Hermione felt her face growing hot with anger. “I’m simply curious where your sudden brilliance at Potions came from,” she said irately.

There was a distinct hint of guilty conscience in Harry’s expression; she fixed him with a piercing stare and waited. He had just opened his mouth to speak when they were approached by Elena.

“Mind if I sit here?” she asked politely.

The boys’ faces clearly betrayed that they weren’t that keen on her company, but Hermione was so angry that she didn’t care. “Sure,” she told the girl and Elena sat down next to her.

Helping herself to some food the girl gave Harry a small smile. “Congrats on winning the Felix! You must be really good at Potions.”

Hermione snorted disdainfully; she noted with grim satisfaction that Harry was blushing.

“Thanks,” he muttered quietly.

Seemingly startled by their reaction Elena raised her brows; curiously she looked from Harry to Hermione. “What’s the matter?”

She frowned. “I was just wondering the same thing. That was the first time Harry displayed any kind of special talent for Potions, you know.”

Harry huffed. “You can’t stand it when someone’s better than you, Hermione; just admit it! And in case you didn’t notice, _she_ was better than you, too!” At the last part he threw a pointed look in Elena’s direction.

“But unlike you _she_ had an ‘O’ at Potions in her O.W.L.s,” Hermione retorted quickly.

The boys looked slightly taken aback by that news, but Elena shrugged it off. “It’s my favourite subject,” she said casually. “I’ve got a knack for it.”

“Then why aren’t you angry that you didn’t win the Felix?” Hermione couldn’t help but ask.

She shrugged again. “At least none of the Slytherins got it. Have you seen Malfoy? He looked like he _really_ wanted it – he seemed almost feverish...”

“Exactly!” Harry piped up. He regarded Elena with newfound appreciation, nodding eagerly. “I couldn’t let him have it, Hermione; who knows what he would’ve used it for!” At the last words he lowered his voice to a secretive whisper.

Hermione let out a deep sigh. “Merlin, Harry; not again!”

Even Ron rolled his eyes, but he was too busy chewing to contribute to the conversation.

Yet Elena’s interest seemed piqued; she perked a brow. “Should I ask?”

Decidedly she shook her head. “Don’t!”

Harry frowned angrily. “If you would just listen, Hermione, I – ”

Impatiently she interrupted him. “I listened, Harry, at least a dozen times! Still I don’t believe it!”

“Believe what?” Elena asked curiously.

Hermione leaned closer and lowered her voice to answer the question without attracting the attention of their fellow Gryffindors. “Harry is of the opinion that Draco Malfoy became a Death Eater over the summer.”

The other girl’s eyes widened in surprise; she turned to face Harry. “Why do you think that?”

He gave her a measuring look; then he threw a quick glance at Dean and Seamus who were eying them with obvious interest. He turned back and shook his head. “Later.”

Elena narrowed her eyes at him. “Is that why you tried to sneak into Malfoy’s compartment on the train?”

Hermione sucked in a breath; this was news to her. “You did _what_?” she exclaimed in angry disbelief.

Every head within a three-yard radius turned towards them.

Harry sighed resignedly. “Could you lower your voice, _please_?”

She frowned at him. “Don’t tell me that’s why you showed up late for the feast and with blood all over your face.”

“Look, it was worth it,” Harry whispered, a fanatic gleam lightened up his green eyes. “You need to hear what Malfoy said...”

But Hermione didn’t want to hear; she cut him off. “Harry, this is going too far,” she said sternly. “Invisibility cloak or not, you can’t sneak up on people to eavesdrop on them!” She gave him a scathing look.

He glared back defiantly. “I seized an opportunity, okay? After Slughorn let us go I followed Zabini and – ”

A disbelieving snort from Elena interrupted him. “You tried to sneak up on _Zabini_?”

Harry gave her an impatient look. “I was wearing my invisibility cloak, he couldn’t see me...”

The girl actually laughed at that, short and very humourlessly. “You have no idea what he’s capable of, right?”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Zabini? That guy’s too wrapped up in his arrogance to take note of anything,” he said snidely.

Slowly she shook her head. “So you really don’t know... He could hear your mere heartbeat from yards away, if he put his mind to it.”

“You mean with a spell?” Hermione asked sceptically.

“He didn’t use his wand,” Harry stated in a patronizing tone. “Even if; he would’ve needed to realise that I was following him first.”

Elena sighed. “He wouldn’t need a wand,” she told them quietly. “He would simply rely on his _runes_.” She gave them a meaningful look.

Hermione gasped in surprise. “You mean Zabini’s a _rune warrior_?” she whispered anxiously.

Elena nodded. Harry didn’t look like he was following. “A what?”

Ron gulped audibly; his eyes had widened. “A rune warrior,” he piped up. “An element bender who decided to burn runes into his skin to heighten his senses,” he explained to Harry. “But I’d never take Zabini for one, the guy’s far too vain to mar his perfect body like that.” He sniggered and returned his attention to his plate.

Hermione’s scientific interest was piqued; she ignored Harry’s disbelieving look and Ron’s noisy eating and leaned closer to Elena. “I’ve read about rune warriors,” she told her with a sense of fascination. “But I thought they were almost extinct nowadays... why do you believe Zabini is one?”

The girl seemed reluctant to answer, but Hermione couldn’t rein in her curiosity. “Did Greengrass tell you?”

“No,” she said hesitantly, lowering her voice to a hushed whisper. “Gideon warned me about him. When my cousin was at Hogwarts, he kept an eye on all the benders to take note which ones decided to become rune warriors.”

Hermione felt a cold shiver run down her spine. “Are you saying that there more of them... _here_? At Hogwarts?”

The other girl shrugged. “Of course. The runes must be applied while they’re mastering their element, and since most benders start learning when they come to Hogwarts they get the runes here as well.”

She sucked in a breath. “I heard that Hogwarts was teaching elemental magic, but I never thought the school would support such a barbaric tradition.” She shook her head in disbelief. “I mean... those rune warriors are _dangerous_! Have people learned nothing from the last war?”

“I guess not.” Elena gave her a small smile and stood up. “You coming?”

Only now Hermione realised that the boys were on their feet as well. She hurried to get up from the bench and followed them from the hall.

 

* * *

 

Back at the Gryffindor common room they found an empty table in a corner. Hermione eagerly opened her bag to get started on her homework for Runes. Ron and Harry were lazily lounging in their armchairs; she gave them a look of stern disapproval. “What about Slughorn’s assignment?”

Ron shrugged and yawned; Harry rolled his eyes at her. “Tomorrow is another day, Hermione.”

She huffed but knew it was a hopeless struggle, so she said no more. At least Elena seemed to plan on getting some work done; she had unpacked her Defence stuff.

Yet she didn’t open the book and absentmindedly fiddled with her quill. Then she cleared her throat and addressed Harry. “So, what about Malfoy?”

Hermione sighed and tried to concentrate on her essay, attempting to block them out, naturally failing.

Harry leaned over and started to introduce Elena to his harebrained theory in a hushed voice. The girl listened attentively, frowning now and then.

“So you haven’t actually _seen_ the Mark on his arm, did I get that right?” she pointed out one of the weak points when he was finished.

“Yes,” Harry admitted reluctantly, “but – ”

Elena cut him off by asking another question. “And on the train, what did you overhear?”

He proceeded to tell her and Hermione found herself listening involuntarily.

“I think Malfoy just wanted to show off in front of Parkinson,” Ron chimed in.

Hermione shrugged. “Maybe...”

“I don’t think so,” objected Elena. “I don’t believe Malfoy gives a damn about his so-called _girlfriend_ ,” she stated, narrowing her eyes. “However, Zabini had certainly warned him about your presence, so he only said what he wanted you to hear.”

Harry frowned thoughtfully. “I hadn’t thought about it that way,” he admitted. “But that means there might be something that he’s hiding; he probably told them later, in the safety of their common room...” He trailed off and a look of determination spread across his features.

Hermione recognised a great danger and decided to take preventive action. “No, Harry!” she told him sternly. “Don’t even think it!”

“Why not?” he asked defiantly. “It worked last time!”

“Yes, it worked just _fabulous_!” she snarled at him. “You didn’t learn anything at all and I ended up as a cat!”

“What?” Elena’s eyes had widened; the boys were laughing at the memory.

“It’s not funny!” Hermione hissed angrily.

Harry wiped tears of laughter from his eyes and told Elena how he and Ron had used Polyjuice Potion to masquerade as Crabbe and Goyle in order to sound Malfoy out about the Chamber of Secrets.

For some reason the girl didn’t seem shocked that a murderous monster had lived in the bowels of the school; she turned to Hermione with a deeply impressed expression. “You managed to brew Polyjuice Potion in your second year?”

She nodded, slightly pacified that someone seemed to appreciate her abilities for a change.

Elena whistled through her teeth. “That’s impressive!”

Hermione felt quite flattered, but shrugged it off. “It was either that or continue to live in fear that the monster would kill all Muggleborns,” she told her dryly.

Abruptly the boys turned serious again. Elena frowned. “I assume I could ask Daphne about Malfoy,” she said thoughtfully. “Maybe she heard something...”

Ron snorted disdainfully. “Yeah, because Greengrass will certainly have no scruple to rat on a fellow Slytherin.”

Elena narrowed her eyes at him. “My cousin has no love for Death Eaters,” she declared stiffly.

Ron shrugged; he looked sceptical. Elena gave him an angry look and firmly opened her book to get started on her homework.

For a while it was quiet at their table; Harry looked like he was brooding about some new daring ideas how to spy on Malfoy and Ron wasn’t doing anything despite yawning now and then. Hermione sighed inwardly and bent over her essay again.

After an especially loud yawn Ron stood up and announced that he would go to bed; Harry followed him absentmindedly.

A few minutes later Elena put her quill down and stretched with relish. “Done with Snape for today,” she declared in a satisfied tone. “I think I’m going to start with Slughorn next; I can’t even begin to understand the assignment for Runes... She trailed off with a frown.

“Right,” Hermione said thoughtfully, “we need to get started with this tutoring thing...” She took a quick look at her timetable. “What about tomorrow after lunch, we have a free afternoon?”

“Sure.” Elena nodded eagerly. “And thank you so much for doing this,” she added with a grateful smile.

“Oh, no problem at all,” answered Hermione and returned the smile.

 

* * *

 

After lunch the next day they made their way to the library. Since it was only the second day of the term it was almost completely deserted, except for some older Ravenclaws who sat scattered here and there. Hermione made a beeline for a quiet corner where they could talk without disturbing anyone.

Elena’s gaze was wandering through the vast premises, she looked quite awestruck. “It’s so much larger than the library of Ilvermorny,” she commented reverently.

Hermione nodded. “Yes, it’s one of the most extensive literary collections in the world – at least when it comes to magical literature,” she said lovingly. “Though your family is known to own some pretty impressive collections as well.”

The other girl regarded her questioningly. “Do you mean the library at Royceston Manor? Gideon said it’s quite large, but I haven’t seen it.”

“Oh.” She couldn’t help but feel disappointed. Here was an opportunity to hear about the exclusive private library from an insider, and the girl hadn’t even looked at it!

Some of her disappointment must have shown on her face, for Elena gave her an apologetic smile and raised her hands in a gesture of surrender. “Don’t look at me like that! I would’ve wanted to see it, but I’ve never been to Royceston Manor,” she pointed out.

“Oh,” Hermione said again. “How about the one at Sinclair Manor then? It’s famous for its rare first editions!”

“Nope.” Elena shook her head. “Sorry to disappoint, but I haven’t seen that one either.”

“But you have been to the manor,” Hermione stated slightly reproachful. “You attended the St Mungo’s benefit; I saw a picture of you in _Witch Weekly_!”

Elena perked a brow. “I didn’t take you for the kind of girl who reads the tabloids,” she said with a hint of amusement.

She felt a light blush colouring her cheeks. “I don’t, _usually_... it was for research only!”

Now the other girl raised both brows. “ _Research_?”

 _Well, this is awkward..._ Bashfully Hermione averted her gaze. “Actually I was researching _you_.” When Elena stayed quiet, she cast a quick glance at her. To her immense relief the girl didn’t look angry, but thoughtful.

“You knew him, didn’t you,” she enquired quietly. “Sirius Black?”

Hermione nodded. “Yes. He was Harry’s godfather, you know.” She regarded the other girl cautiously.

Elena’s expression darkened. “Yeah, I read as much,” she stated with a frown. “My mother never talked about him... but then she never spoke about her family either.” Her tone clearly betrayed hurt and anger.

She couldn’t help but gape at her in stunned disbelief. “Your mother never talked about her family?”

Elena shook her head. “Not ever,” she said darkly. “I didn’t have a clue we had family here at all.” She grimaced. “But maybe that was for the best – as it turns out most of my _dear_ relatives are quite awful.”

Hermione couldn’t suppress a shocked gasp; quickly she pressed a hand to her mouth.

“Have I shocked you?” Elena asked dryly. “Sorry about that.”

Awkwardly Hermione cleared her throat. “It’s not that... I don’t...” She trailed off and shook her head. “I just thought it must be thrilling to find out that you belong to such an elite family,” she admitted hesitantly.

The other girl gave her an enquiring look. “How so?”

She squirmed uncomfortably. “You know that my parents are Muggles...”

“And?” Elena raised a brow.

Hermione sighed, for some reason deciding to confide in her. “When I first learned that I was a witch I searched for magical relations,” she confessed quietly. “But I couldn’t find any... I was very... _disappointed_.”

“I’m sorry about that.” Elena gave her a sympathetic look. “But you wouldn’t want to be related to my family, believe me.”

She gave her a sad smile. “So bad?”

“Worse!” Elena shuddered exaggeratedly.

“What about your cousins?” Hermione enquired timidly. “You seemed to like them...”

The other girl’s expression softened. “Gideon is amazing,” she stated with a small smile. “And I like Daphne, too.”

She couldn’t keep her smile from getting a little strained; before she was able to control her expression Elena had already noticed her discomfort.

“What?” she asked curiously. “You don’t like Daphne?”

Hermione shifted uneasily. “I don’t know her that well... actually I don’t know her at all. Those pureblooded Slytherins normally don’t associate with someone like me, you know.”

Elena frowned. “What Malfoy did yesterday... my cousin hasn’t joined him in something like that, has she?”

“No.” She shook her head. “But she’s usually there to watch him do it...” She trailed off uncertainly.

“I see.” The other girl looked somewhat resigned. “Look, Daphne might have done nothing to stop Malfoy from tormenting you, but she doesn’t share his dubious opinions, and neither do I. You know that, right?”

“Yes.” Hermione gave her a small smile. “ _You_ made that pretty clear yesterday.”

Elena grinned. “His face was priceless, wasn’t it?”

“Definitely.” She chuckled. “The only time I saw Malfoy looking that dumbfounded was right after I had slapped him in third year.”

The other girl perked a brow. “You slapped him, too?”

Hermione grinned at the memory. “He was being exceptionally awful... what do you mean – ‘ _slapped him, too’_?”

Elena chuckled. “Well, there was an incident when he took me for Daphne... it was the first time I met him and he was behaving really rude – so I slapped him. But I’ve gotten several stern lectures about how it’s unwise to slap Malfoys afterwards.”

They laughed in unison, what caused Madam Pince to shoot them a scathing glare. Quickly stifling her laughter Hermione regarded the other girl intently. “You truly resemble your cousin a great deal, you know? It’s a little uncanny...”

Elena sighed. “I guess it is... though Daphne is the prettier one – and she has perfect hair!”

Hermione grinned about her indignant tone. “Oh please, you can’t complain about your hair – at least not to me!”

Chuckling quietly the other girl took in the sight of her bushy mane. “I always thought that there are more important things than having perfect hair,” she stated with a shrug.

“I couldn’t agree more.” Hermione nodded wholeheartedly. “So, should we get started on Runes?”

“Yes, please.” Elena nodded and opened her books.

 

* * *

 

It quickly became apparent that her student already had a basic understanding of the matter. When Hermione enquired curiously, she shrugged.

“I’ve know that I would take up the subject for a few weeks, so I started to read up on it,” Elena pointed out. “Gideon gave me his old notes, and if there was something I didn’t understand I could ask him... he knows everything there is to know about runes.” An unreadable expression passed across her features and she lightly shook her head. “Actually he reads them like English; it’s pretty frustrating.”

“Does he?” Hermione couldn’t help but feel impressed. She might have passed her O.W.L. exam with an ‘O’, but she still was far from being able to actually _read_ the ancient texts. Thoughtfully she regarded her student, pondering how to proceed.

“I would propose that we go through one chapter per week. At that rate we could finish the subject material of the first year long before Christmas,” she thought aloud. “Then we start with the second year, and if all goes as planned we should be through with the third year before the term ends. What do you think?”

Elena nodded in approval. “Sounds good to me.”

“It might get quite stressful later on... you know, with all the homework and exam preparation,” Hermione warned her.

“Yeah, I figured as much...” She sighed. “At least I won’t get bored this term, right?”

“I guess not.” Hermione gave her a small smile. “But I think if anyone can manage, it’s you... your grades are quite impressive,” she admitted not without a little awe.

Elena grinned amused. “You took a peek at my exam results when McGonagall was busy with my timetable, didn’t you.”

“What can I say - I was curious.” Hermione shrugged and returned the grin.

“Of course you were.” Slowly the amusement faded from the other girl’s features. “Look, I’m not some kind of genius, okay? It’s just that I always had a lot of time to study... I didn’t have many friends at Ilvermorny.” Her voice sounded rather strained and she averted her gaze.

Hermione stared at her in astonishment. She had taken Elena de Villiers for the kind of girl who had no trouble making friends, the kind of person who everybody wanted to be friends with. Awkwardly she cleared her throat. “Why?”

Elena sighed. “They took me for some kind of _freak_ ,” she said somewhat reluctantly.

She frowned at her. “Why? Just because you’re smart?”

“Among other things...” muttered Elena darkly.

Something about her expression kept Hermione from enquiring further. She gave her an encouraging look. “No one takes you for a freak here,” she tried to cheer her up. “I definitely don’t!”

“Thank you,” said Elena and gave her a small smile.

 

* * *

 

After that they returned their attention to Runes. It didn’t take long to talk the first chapter through, and since there was still plenty of time before dinner they decided to do some homework. Professor McGonagall had showered them with work that morning, so there was more than enough to do.

Doing homework with Elena was entirely different than the same experience with Harry and Ron. After years of being used to people who always looked to her for help and often tried to simply copy her work, Hermione found it refreshing to finally have found someone who took the work as seriously as she did; someone who she could discuss the assignment with and who contributed own ideas. The afternoon flew by and when it was time for dinner they were amazingly done with everything.

 _I could get used to this_ , Hermione thought when they left the library and made their way down to the Great Hall.


	35. Letters from Dumbledore

When they entered the Great Hall Harry and Ron were already sitting across from each other at the lower end of the Gryffindor table. Hermione immediately sat down next to Ron, so Elena went around the table and took the seat next to Harry. The boys seemed to have gotten used to her company; tonight nobody looked annoyed that she sat with them.

To her surprise Harry leaned closer to address her before she could do as much as take a bite of her dinner.

“Did you have a chance to talk to Greengrass yet?”

Elena put her fork down and turned to face him. “I did, but it wasn’t very informative,” she told him. Actually Daphne had practically yelled at her when she had dared to suggest that Malfoy might be a Death Eater.

“Us liki zed,” Weasley piped up, his mouth stuffed with food.

“Ron!” Hermione said reproachfully and elbowed him hard in the side.

“I assume you were trying to say ‘ _I told you so’_?” Elena asked him dryly.

He gulped audibly. “Exactly. You can’t ask a Slytherin to rat on another snake.”

She shrugged about that. “The problem is rather that Daphne is currently at odds with Malfoy,” she pointed out. “She’s out of the loop with his recent activities.”

Across from her Hermione turned to cast a quick glance at the Slytherin table. Elena followed her gaze and saw that her cousin was sitting with Tracey Davies at the upper end of the table, as far away from Malfoy and his entourage as she possibly could. _Speaking of Malfoy’s entourage... where’s Zabini?_ She quickly scanned the whole table for the guy, but the dark Slytherin was nowhere to be seen.

“So what did she say exactly?” Harry asked and she forced herself to return her attention back to him.

“That she can’t believe Malfoy would ever join the Death Eaters.” She rolled her eyes about her cousin’s apparent naiveté concerning her friends. “She got slightly angry with me for even suggesting it. They used to be close friends, you know.”

“Malfoy has friends apart from Crabbe and Goyle?” Weasley asked sceptically.

“Apparently so,” she answered with a shrug. “Who are Crabbe and Goyle again?” The names sounded familiar, but she couldn’t put the faces to them.

Harry nodded over to where Malfoy was sitting. “Those two across from him and his girlfriend.”

“Oh, you mean _thick and stupid,_ ” Elena stated with a grin. “He’s friends with _those_?” She couldn’t quite believe it; the two troll-like built guys didn’t look like the kind of people a snob such as Malfoy would associate with.

“Apparently so.” Harry returned her grin. “Though I would rather call them his henchman.”

Elena chuckled. _That seems more fitting._ After another sceptical look at Malfoy she turned back to Harry. “Listen,” she said quietly, lowering her voice so that no one apart from him, Hermione and Weasley could hear her. “I thought about your theory and I don’t think it likely.”

Instantly he opened his mouth to protest, but she stopped him with a wave of her hand. “Hear me out first, okay?”

He nodded reluctantly and she continued. “Let’s look at this logically. Why would the Death Eaters want Malfoy to join them? There’s nothing special about the guy apart from his bloated ego and the fact that he was born a _Malfoy_.” She grimaced at the last name. “From what I can tell he’s just an averagely-talented wizard... he’s not a rune warrior, not even a bender,” she pointed out. “And most importantly – his father’s sitting in Azkaban because he recently mucked up a task for Voldemort.”

She immediately realized her faux pas when Hermione and Ron flinched violently at the name; Weasley even choked on his food. Absently Hermione slapped him on the back.

Harry had narrowed his eyes at her. “You call him by his name?”

Defiantly she raised her chin. “I watched my mother die because he sent his cronies to seize her... I call him whatever I want.”

“No, that’s fine with me,” he hurried to assure her. “It’s just that I don’t know that many people besides Dumbledore and myself who call him that.”

Elena thought she saw a hint of reluctant respect in his expression. She shrugged. “Anyway – why would he want Malfoy to join him? There’s nothing he has to offer; he’s _underage_ , his father has just failed... Why would Voldemort even consider Malfoy?”

This time Hermione didn’t flinch, but Ron got into another coughing fit.

Harry ignored him; he seemed to ponder her words thoughtfully. “I don’t know,” he admitted finally. “I just have this feeling, you know?”

Hermione snorted; Elena couldn’t help but grin. “A _feeling_ , huh?”

He huffed. “Don’t laugh about it! It’s an instinct, it has warned me before – ” He flinched and broke off mid-sentence; startled by a red-headed girl who had stepped behind him to put a hand on his shoulder.

Elena eyed her thoughtfully; she couldn’t shake the feeling that she had seen her before.

“What are you guys whispering about? the redhead asked blithely.

“Uh... hi Ginny!” muttered Harry, looking slightly embarrassed. When he noticed the appraising look the girl was fixing Elena with, he hurried to introduce her. “Um, this is Elena de Villiers – Elena, this is Ginny Weasley.”

“Nice to meet you,” said Elena and made an effort to smile at the girl. “ _Weasley_... you must be Ron’s sister then?”

The girl named Ginny nodded curtly and returned her smile rather half-heartedly, before she focused her attention on Harry. “I was wondering when you’re holding the try-outs. This weekend, perhaps?”

Harry shook his head. “I wanted to, but the pitch was already blocked.”

“Let me guess – Slytherin?” Ginny grimaced.

“Actually not,” Harry stated with a shrug. “Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw.”

The redhead pouted at that. “The _Hufflepuffs_ get to hold their try-outs before we do?”

He gave her an apologetic smile. “Let’s be honest – they can use the extra time to train.”

“Oh, yeah,” Ron piped up. “They should’ve trained all summer if they want a chance to keep up this year.”

“Are you guys talking about Quidditch?” Elena asked curiously.

Harry nodded. “They just made me the captain of Gryffindor and I basically need a whole new team... Do you play?”

She couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Not at all – I don’t even fly,” she pointed out.

“You don’t fly?” Ginny asked with a hint of disdain. “Even Hermione does - more or less.” She winked at the girl in question, who simply shrugged.

“That’s a pity,” stated Harry. “If you were only half as good as your cousins you would be in, no doubt.”

Astonished Elena raised her brows. “Daphne and Astoria play Quidditch?” Her disbelief was evident in her voice.

Ginny snorted. “Merlin, no! Those two probably wouldn’t even know which end of the broom goes to the front. Harry meant your boy cousins, the de Villiers brothers.”

At her disparaging tone Elena narrowed her eyes. “I didn’t know they played,” she remarked, addressing Harry.

“Brilliant chasers, both of them,” he informed her. “Though the only times they really showed their full potential were when they had to play against Gryffindor... otherwise they were too busy blocking each other.”

“Yeah, they don’t get along.” She frowned, having some trouble picturing Gideon and his obnoxious brother being part of the same team. “Anyway... I don’t play at all - at Ilvermorny people were more into Quodpot, you know.”

The Weasleys snorted in unison. “That’s a lame excuse of a sport,” Ginny declared decidedly; Ron nodded in approval.

“It’s not that bad,” said Harry, seemingly trying to be diplomatic. When he saw Ginny’s furious glare he backtracked hurriedly. “But Quidditch is definitely better!” He gulped. “Anyway, our try-outs have to wait until the weekend after next,” he informed the redhead.

“I see,” said Ginny. “Here, before I forget... there’s something I’m supposed to give you...” She rummaged through her bag and produced two sealed roles of parchment. One she handed Harry, the other she gave to Elena, frowning lightly at her.

She took it and offered the girl a small smile. “Thank you,” she said politely and stowed the role away in her bag.

“I guess I see you guys later,” said Ginny and walked away.

Harry unrolled his parchment and read the message.

“Who’s it from?” Ron wanted to know.

“Dumbledore,” answered Harry and rolled up the parchment to put it in his pocket.

“Is it about your private lessons?” enquired Ron bluntly.

Elena pricked up her ears. _Private lessons?_

Harry remained silent and gave Weasley a pointed look. Ron’s gaze flicked to her and then he quickly returned his attention to his plate.

_I see... secret private lessons_ , thought Elena. _Now, that’s interesting._ She looked from Weasley back to Harry, but didn’t dare to ask.

He was frowning at her. “What does the headmaster want from you?” he asked, clearly suspicious.

_Nice try._ “I guess he wants to know how the new transfer student is settling in,” she told him casually.

He narrowed his eyes at her. “You don’t want to read the message?”

Elena shrugged. “I can do that later.”

Harry gave her another quizzical look but didn’t enquire further. Instead he stroke up a conversation with Weasley, discussing the upcoming Quidditch try-outs and debating strengths and weaknesses of players he had in mind for the different positions.

 

* * *

 

The boys continued their discussion throughout dinner and all the way up to the Gryffindor tower. Since Elena didn’t know any of the people they were talking about she just listened, noticing that Hermione didn’t join in either and that the boys made no effort to include her. When they sat down in the common room they were still on about it; now Harry had started to review the Slytherin team player by player.

Elena leaned over to Hermione. “They’re really passionate about Quidditch,” she remarked with a grin.

“You have no idea.” Hermione rolled her eyes. “Sometimes I feel like that’s all they ever talk about.” She sighed, but the look she regarded the boys with was quite lenient.

“You’re not such a big fan of the sport?” Elena enquired curiously.

The other girl shrugged. “It’s just a game, you know what I mean?”

She smiled in response. “Sure, but an interesting one. I’m looking forward to see the first inter-house match.”

“You’re a fan then?” asked Hermione.

“Definitely,” Elena answered. Back in New York she had been used to watching the matches of the local team with her mother every other week whenever she had been home for the holidays. Though Quodpot was far more popular in the states, they both had always preferred Quidditch.

“Earlier you said that you don’t fly,” Hermione said thoughtfully, “may I ask why?”

She shrugged. “Never learned it. I grew up in New York; the city’s a no-fly zone... you know, too many No-Maj – I mean Muggles,” she corrected herself. “And at school it was mandatory... so why learn it when you can only fly on the school grounds anyway?”

“I thought you liked Quidditch,” remarked Hermione.

“I like watching it, yes,” Elena clarified with a grin. “Doesn’t mean I have to play myself, does it?”

The other girl returned her smile. “I guess it doesn’t. Well – you’ll have many opportunities to watch Quidditch here,” she told her. “As soon as the season starts there’ll be a match every few weeks.”

“One more thing I like about Hogwarts,” said Elena. “At Ilvermorny we only had Quodpot to watch.”

“I’ve never seen a Quodpot match,” confessed Hermione. “I’ve read about the game once – something about an exploding ball and the players try not to be too near when it blows up?”

She grinned. “That’s close enough. It’s quite a spectacle to watch, but I much prefer Quidditch – more complex... and far more elegant, you know.”

Hermione snorted. “Sounds like you should get on well with Harry and Ron then.”

They both looked over to the boys; apparently they were finished discussing the other teams and had moved on to tactics. Hermione murmured something about how they should better do their homework, but they were so caught up in their discussion that they didn’t even hear it. Later, when the girls bid them goodnight and went up to their dorm, they were still talking about Quidditch.

 

* * *

 

Elena waited until Hermione had disappeared into the bathroom, before she opened her bag and took out the letter from Dumbledore. Then she threw a quick glance at her other roommates, who were huddled together and once again busy giggling and didn’t seem like they were taking notice of what she was doing. Quickly she unrolled the parchment and read the short message.

 

_Dear Elena,_

_I would like to start our private lessons this Friday. Kindly meet me on top of the Astronomy Tower at 8pm. I hope you are settling in well and enjoying your first week at Hogwarts._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

_PS: Please dress warmly._

 

She carefully memorised time and place; then she took out her wand and set fire to the parchment. _Better not to have this lying around._ She watched as the letter crumbled to ashes, finally flicking her wand to vanish every last remain of it.

 


	36. The Wars to Come

The clatter of the silverware against his plate seemed unnaturally loud to Gideon’s ears; the steak, though done to perfection, was strangely dull for his taste. He found no pleasure in his meal, chewing and swallowing mechanically, while he skimmed _The Evening Prophet_. Mostly he read the paper to distract himself from the ever-present quiet of the house, weighing down on him and darkening his mood.

Over the last weeks dinner had been his favourite part of the day, something to look forward to as he sat through endless Council meetings and tiresome strategy briefings with his grandfather. But since Elena had left for Hogwarts his evening meals had once again become a lonely affair. She hadn’t even been gone for a week yet, but Gideon found that he missed her more with every passing day. It was odd, how quickly he had gotten used to his cousin’s company, after years of living alone. Now he almost dreaded the thought of coming home to an empty house.  

He tried to compensate by immersing himself in his work more than ever. Minister Scrimgeour had settled in well; the first few weeks of his administration could be registered a success. Certainly not regarding the Ministry’s hunt for the Dark Lord and his followers of course, with that task he proved to be just as luckless as Fudge; but unlike his predecessor, Scrimgeour had the useful talent to exude drive and progress despite total lack of palpable results.

In any case, the new Minister was serving his purpose; the measures he had taken, no matter how ineffective they might have been, had managed to calm the public, at least for the moment. People seemed desperate to believe that Scrimgeour and his government were in control of the situation, clinging to the vain hope that things would take a turn for the better soon.

Gideon wasn’t so confident looking to the future. He knew that the fragile peace was merely an illusion, easily shattered to pieces by a single wand swing at a moment’s notice. It was just a matter of time before the Dark Lord would declare open war. Gideon knew it, his grandfather knew it, everybody on the bloody Council knew it... yet all they were doing was waiting and watching and getting ready to sit the whole thing out.

Worse than that, his family was quite busy making plans how to profit from the war to come. Listening to them discuss possible investments in the Defence against the Dark Arts sector made him sick to his stomach. It was simply astounding how much money one could make by exploiting people’s fear and terror. With their imported wands alone they were already making a fortune, now that Ollivander was conveniently out of the picture. So _conveniently_ , that Gideon sometimes wondered whether the wandmaker’s disappearance and his family’s entry into the wand market had been nothing but lucky timing... But he knew better than to utter speculations like that, and so he kept his mouth firmly shut and his head down.

Now was not the time to attract too much attention, not while he was looking for a traitor in the family. Though his instinct told him that it was Henry, he hadn’t been able to find tangible evidence against his brother yet, in defiance of his best efforts. Gideon had visited the ruin of his aunt’s house several times to thoroughly inspect the wards, trying to figure out who had tampered with them. It had been fruitless; whoever had let the Death Eaters in hadn’t left any traces.

Therefore nothing else remained to be done for him but to exercise patience; he needed to lull Henry into a false sense of security and wait for him to make a blunder. If his brother had one weakness it would be his craving for recognition; at some point his need to brag would get the better of him. With Henry’s confession at hand Gideon would finally be able to discredit him. Their grandfather might have turned a blind eye to all his brother’s wrongdoing over the years, but conspiring with Death Eaters to murder a family member would hopefully be the final straw and convince the Duke to withdraw his protection.

And so Gideon waited patiently, though it became increasingly difficult for him to feign indifference whenever he had to face his accursed brother. _May he rot in hell!_ he swore bitterly, before a tapping sound from the window tore him from his dark musings.

He recognized his cousin’s owl and his mood brightened instantly. Pushing away his plate, he got up and walked over to let the bird in. “You’re back quickly,” he greeted Merlin. The owl hooted softly, put out its leg for Gideon to untie the letter it was carrying and then flew over to the table where it settled next to his plate, eying the remains of the steak with distinct interest.

“Feel free to indulge yourself,” Gideon said with a grin. “I’m done anyway.”

As the bird regaled itself with the leftovers of his dinner, he retook his seat and unrolled the parchment. To the casual observer it appeared to be a firewhiskey advertisement. Gideon smirked in amusement, briefly appreciated his cousin’s sense of detail and took out his wand.

The glamour charm was quite complex, almost impossible to detect and not so easily done, yet Elena had picked up quickly when he had taught her the spell before her departure. _Just in case you need to tell me something delicate_ , he had said, proceeding to warn her not to put the _really_ dangerous stuff to paper. After all there was a war going on; one never knew who would try and intercept his mail.

He cast the spell to take the glamour off and watched as the colourful ad was absorbed by the parchment to be replaced with his cousin’s words.

_Dear Gideon,_

_almost a week now, but it seems so much longer. You were right – Hogwarts is amazing! I love the school, and I think I like being in Gryffindor after all (yes, I do – frown all you want). Most of my new housemates are quite nice and friendly; I hope I am well on the way to make some friends. I particularly like one of my roommates, her name is Hermione Granger and we share most courses; she tutors me in Ancient Runes as well._

_Classes are interesting so far and not too challenging; I think I’m going to do okay here. However, there is one big exception – Defence against the Dark Arts. Seriously, Snape is awful! Due to my “predisposition” I wasn’t allowed to use magic in the Defence lessons at Ilvermorny, and so I couldn’t take a practical in the subject... Now that I solved that problem I thought I would finally learn Defence in practice, but Snape forbade me to use magic in his class!_

_I’m not sure what to do about it... maybe I’ll try and ask Hermione to practice with me, she’s really good. Though I don’t know how to find the time for it, between homework and Runes tutoring I’m quite busy. And then there’s also my first special lesson coming up – I’m so excited about it!_

_Altogether I’m settling in well; better than I expected, truth be told. There was another little “incident” with Malfoy, though. Spare yourself the tirade – already got it from Daphne. I just couldn’t help myself... That guy is such a pompous git!_

_Harry Potter even seems to think that Malfoy joined the Death Eaters; apparently he watched him behaving suspiciously over the summer. What do you think? Rather unlikely, right? If Voldemort actually had the nerve to turn one of the students into his mole, someone like Zabini would be a much more plausible choice, don’t you agree?_

_Anyway, I hope this finds you well and not too overworked – seriously, remember to sleep once in a while! I miss you._

_Love,_

_Elena_

With a frown Gideon put the letter down, absently patting Merlin’s head. The owl had finished the remains of his steak and allowed the caress graciously. _Draco Malfoy, a Death Eater?_ He was sceptical. _Doubtful._

Then again, who knew what went around in the Dark Lord’s head... Though he had to agree with Elena, someone with Zabini’s talents would certainly be far more suited for a spy. _Why would he need a spy in Hogwarts anyway?_ Gideon wondered thoughtfully. Sure, it might come in handy to have someone keeping tabs on Dumbledore, but the Dark Lord surely wouldn’t expect a mere student to prove equal to that task, would he?

_Unlikely_ , he decided, _and why turn to an underage boy when one of his more accomplished followers is already in position?_ Unless Snape had actually switched sides for real... Snape – the eternal double agent. During his time at Hogwarts Gideon had gotten along well enough with the head of Slytherin house; his grades, his position as a prefect and later head boy and, certainly not least, his last name had ensured Snape’s special favour.

He sighed in resignation. _Leave it to Elena to clash with him right at the start._ It was no secret that Snape enjoyed giving Gryffindors a hard time, but to forbid her the use of magic in class... _Unacceptable,_ he thought decidedly. _I won’t let this go unchallenged. A scathing letter to the headmaster should do the trick..._

These were dangerous times, and despite her special talents his cousin should be able to defend herself with a wand, if need be. Gideon frowned, shaking his head. _We had weeks to work on her defensive skills while she was here_ , he thought, slightly angry with himself. _If she had just asked..._ Well, there was nothing he could do about it now, except writing that letter.

He sighed again. _Not able to properly defend herself and yet she goes and picks a fight with Malfoy of all people._ Maybe there was some good in her being sorted into Gryffindor after all. It did put her out of Malfoy’s reach and those Gryffindors were known to stick together, if nothing else. Perhaps it would benefit his cousin to make some friends there. The _right_ kind of friends, of course...

_Granger – definitely wrong._ Not so much because of her _parentage_ , he might have been able to condone that, but the girl was too close to Potter, and no good could come from association with the _Chosen One_. Gideon groaned in frustration. _Seriously Elena, do you have any shred of survival instinct?_ He would have to write her a few choice words on how to select _suitable_ friends. He sighed. _Well, at least she seems to be happy._

Getting up from his chair he offered Merlin his arm. “Come with me,” he told the owl, “I have two letters to write that you can take back to Hogwarts.” As the bird hooted and took a seat on his shoulder, Gideon left the room and made his way to the study, determined to get his correspondence done. _And then I might heed Elena’s advice and go to bed early for a change_ , he thought with a yawn.

 

* * *

 

The next day began with another family meeting that his grandfather had set at an unearthly hour. Yet as usual everybody showed up on time and uncomplaining; well, everybody except for Henry, who was once again missing unexplained. The Duke didn’t even bother to comment on his absence; it wasn’t like Henry had much to contribute when it came to business decisions.

Not that Gideon had much to contribute in that field either, his personal interest and talent lay more in politics and law. Yet his sense of duty prompted him to attend, if only to try and not lose track of the recent developments.

Today’s meeting proved to be exceptionally dull, for his aunt Evaine was presenting a report on the latest proceedings of Gringotts. In spite of the imminent war the bank was apparently doing rather well, even though the additional security expenses put a dent in Evaine’s balance. As she droned on and on about currency fluctuations and the estimated development of the gold price, Gideon found his thoughts straying off.

_Seriously, who cares what the gold price is going to do next year? We might very well all be dead by then,_ he mused darkly. It puzzled him how they just didn’t seem to see that the Dark Lord wasn’t some risk factor you could calculate and cash in on. _He’s a bloody maniac, unpredictable and out of control_ , Gideon thought decidedly. _He has to be dealt with, or he’s going to destroy the whole country._

He dared to cast a quick glance at his grandfather. The Duke was following Evaine’s presentation stony-faced; it was impossible to tell whether he was content with his daughter’s performance or not. _Probably not,_ he thought wryly. Pleasing Richard de Villiers was simply a thing of the impossibility.  

Gideon kept watching him from the corner of his eye. The Duke had always been a mystery to him. Maintaining a low profile in public as well as in private, keeping his cards close to his chest... there wasn’t a single person in the world who the man opened up to. Well, perhaps he had confided in his wife once, but since Gideon’s grandmother had died long before he was born, he had no way to know.

What was sure was that Richard de Villiers was _powerful_ , probably the most influential man in the country. The wizards of Britannia still looked to their aristocracy for guidance, and the Duke was _the_ aristocrat par excellence. A finely spun web of contacts and centuries-old loyalties made him a king in all but name. A mere word from him would suffice to cause significant harm to the Dark Lord’s cause, maybe even nip his war in the bud. There was no need for the Duke to lift a wand; if he could just bring himself to openly declare against the Death Eaters...

_Yeah, never going to happen._ Gideon had to suppress a sigh of resignation. His grandfather had decided not to sully his hands by getting involved in this war, and as usual he would stick to his decision to the very end. _Whatever the cost_ , he thought bitterly. If there was one thing he was certain of, it would be that the Duke was prepared to sacrifice anything, _anyone_ , to achieve his goals. The horrors of another war _– no reason for concern._ Hundreds, probably thousands of innocent lives _– but of course!_ Family members _– there are too many of them anyway..._

He shuddered, disgusted by his own sarcasm. _Well, better suck it up!_ he told himself. Being born a de Villiers came with the respective consequences and expectations; if one wasn’t willing to take extreme measures and break with the family, one better be a good little soldier and do as one was told.

With some effort Gideon refrained from grimacing. The last person with the courage -or the insanity- to turn her back on the family had been his aunt Catherine. _And look how that turned out_ , he mused darkly. No, going rogue wasn’t the answer, there had to be another way, a better way... he just had to find it.

 

* * *

 

When the meeting was over, his family members quickly gathered their notes to go and perform their respective duties. Gideon’s mind was already focused on an appointment with Pius Thicknesse, the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, that was scheduled for later today. They were set to discuss possibilities to tighten security laws. In his head he was busy reviewing his thoughts regarding the meeting, when his grandfather called him back.

“Gideon! A word!”

There was an edge to the Duke’s tone that made him cringe. With a sense of foreboding he took a deep breath to try and brace himself before he turned around to face his grandfather. “Yes, Your Grace?”

“Take a seat.”

He had no choice but to comply with his wish and sat back down. The others threw him curious glances that he tried to ignore. His grandfather waited until everyone had filed from the room and the door had clunked shut, before he cleared his throat and fixed Gideon with a piercing look.

“I want to talk to you about your cousin,” he said with a frown.

There was no doubt which cousin he wanted to discuss. _This can’t be good._ Gideon gulped and waited for more.

“I assume you are in contact with the girl,” the Duke went on. “How is she settling in at Hogwarts?”

“Oh, she’s settling in well, I’d say,” Gideon answered cautiously. “I just received a letter from her yesterday, she seems quite happy.”

His grandfather’s frown deepened. “I heard she was sorted into Gryffindor,” he said with a hint of reproach.

_Of course you did._ Gideon cursed inwardly, trying to keep his expression unfazed. “There’s nothing wrong with being sorted into Gryffindor,” he remarked casually.

The Duke sighed. “Not per se,” he admitted. “Yet I would hope that this is not her first step on the path to follow in her mother’s footsteps,” he said sternly. “You know I expect you to keep the girl in check. I won’t have her disgracing the family name like Catherine did.”

Gideon forced himself to meet his stare without blinking. “Elena won’t do that,” he said with as much confidence as he could muster. “I’ll make sure of it.”

For a moment his grandfather regarded him intently; then he nodded, seemingly satisfied with what he saw in his mien. “Good,” he stated curtly. “I have great plans for the girl.”

_Oh no._ It took him some effort to keep a straight face; carefully he cleared his throat. “May I ask what _kind_ of plans, Your Grace?”

The Duke returned his gaze stony-faced. “At your insistence I made her legally one of us, and I expect the girl to live up to our name. These are turbulent times, and our family has to forge new alliances if we want to maintain our position.”

Gideon could feel the blood draining from his face. _No,_ he thought frantically. _Merlin, no!_ “Forge new alliances...” he parroted anxiously, “but _how_?”

His grandfather narrowed his eyes at him. “The best and most binding way to seal an alliance is by marriage,” he said decidedly and confirmed Gideon’s grave concerns. “I am about to enter negotiations with Tiberius Adair in order to strengthen the ties between our families.”

“You can’t be serious!” he burst out, losing every bit of composure. “Elena’s barely sixteen, she just lost her mother, she lost everything! And you want to go and... _sell her off_!”

The Duke frowned at him. “There’s no need to be so dramatic, Gideon,” he said disapprovingly. “Marriage negotiations take time, and an engagement is all I am hoping to achieve for now. Nothing more is expected of the girl; everything else will have to wait until she comes of age and finishes school.”

“Nothing else is expected of her?” Gideon asked furiously. “Do you have any idea what she’s been through? And you want to add to her misery and _force_ her into marriage?”

Now his grandfather seemed seriously annoyed. “Mind your tone, Gideon!” He gave him a dark look. “I don’t plan on forcing her into anything; I am counting on her sense of duty. The girl struck me as the sensible type - she has to know that our name comes with certain expectations.”

He had another scathing remark on the tip of his tongue, but luckily managed to bite it back. “Please don’t do this!” he resorted to pleas. “Elena has been through so much, she’s still struggling to regain her balance. Too much pressure and she might break.”

Gideon knew his cousin well enough to be quite sure that she wasn’t the type to break, there was too much of her mother in the girl. No, Elena would fight back, and if forced into a corner like this, only Merlin knew what she would do... However, he also knew that this wouldn’t help to convince the Duke to spare her. _I have to appeal to his grandfatherly instincts, as buried as they might be..._

He carefully pondered his next words and controlled his expression. “Your Grace, I can assure you that Elena is not like her mother - give her time to heal and settle into our world and I’m sure she’ll do what you expect her to do.” _Maybe, eventually... Never mind._ Gideon cleared his throat. “Just don’t do this to her _now_ , I beg you!”

His grandfather’s features had softened; he looked as if he was actually considering his words. A faint spark of hope flickered in his chest. _I might have done the impossible and managed to change his mind._ Now, that would be a first. He waited for the verdict, inwardly put on the rack.

Eventually the Duke spoke up. “Perhaps you are right,” he said thoughtfully. “Your cousin didn’t grow up in our world; it is quite possible that Catherine’s parenting lacked in the finer points... the girl might need some time to conform to our etiquette.”

Gideon nodded eagerly. That hadn’t been his point at all, but whatever did the trick...

“The Adairs are one of Britannia’s oldest and most noble families, their bloodline is _almost_ as pure as ours,” his grandfather went on. “They clearly demand high standards of someone looking to marry into their family and we need to avoid anything that could mar this union.”

“Exactly,” Gideon piped up. “And you should keep in mind that we don’t really know about Elena’s father...”

“Nonsense!” the Duke cut him off. “Her father was Sirius Black, as far as I’m concerned,” he declared decidedly. “A Bloodtraitor and a criminal, but undeniably of noble ancestry.” He gave Gideon a piercing look. “And that is all you are going to say if asked about it.”

He bit his lip and nodded reluctantly. Better to act compliant, now that he almost had his grandfather where he wanted him.

“However, the issue remains – we need to strengthen our bond with the Adairs,” said the Duke. “And if I can’t offer them Elena...” He trailed off, apparently struck by an idea. “Tiberius does have a daughter, doesn’t he?”

The breath caught in his throat. _No,_ he thought desperately. _Oh no, no, no..._

“Of course he has!” exclaimed his grandfather. “I remember her, a strapping redhead – what’s her name again?”

Gideon gulped nervously. “Isabell.” His voice sounded strangely dull to his ears. _No, no, no..._

“Isabell, right.” The Duke nodded. “She’s a little younger than you, isn’t she?”

“About a year,” he answered hesitantly. _No, no, no..._

“Perfect!” declared his grandfather. “What do you say?”

Gideon eyed him with a sense of horror, rendered speechless for the moment.

“Well?” asked the Duke, seemingly getting impatient with him.

Awkwardly he cleared his throat. “What do I say to what?”

His grandfather huffed. “Don’t play dumb, Gideon. Tiberius’ daughter would be the perfect bride for you, don’t you agree?”

_No!_ He sucked in a breath, opening his mouth to protest vehemently.

But his grandfather didn’t even wait for his answer, but went on without mercy. “I should have thought of this earlier. Such a marriage won’t only strengthen our alliance with the Adairs, but also ensure the continuation of our own bloodline with the best possible match! This is brilliant!”

_This can’t be happening!_ Gideon started sweating. _How do I get out of this?_

The Duke regarded him intently. “So, what do you say?”

“No!” The word was out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

“What do you mean – ‘no’?” His grandfather narrowed his eyes at him.

Frantically Gideon racked his brains for a solid objection. “What about Henry?” he asked desperately. “He’s your heir, so he should get the best match, shouldn’t he?”

His grandfather frowned. “Your brother isn’t quite ready for marriage, I’d say,” he stated resignedly. “Perhaps Henry will settle down with time, but if not... I won’t risk him stirring the Adairs’ wrath with his... _antics_.” He shook his head. “No, you are far better suited for this. Responsible, dutiful, well-mannered and good-looking -” his grandfather paused to size him up. Then he nodded approvingly. “They can’t object to you.”

Gideon felt like screaming. _Bloody hell, what have I gotten myself into?_

The Duke was watching him expectantly. “There is no other... _involvement_ on your part, is there?” he asked when Gideon kept quiet.

His throat felt constricted, as if an invisible hand was suffocating him. “No,” he managed to choke out. “But I don’t... I _can’t_...” He broke off without any idea what to say. “I’m twenty,” he stated weakly. “I’m not ready for... _marriage..._ ”

His grandfather actually gave a laugh at that, short and very humourless. “Gideon, at your age I already had a wife _and_ a son,” he said in a dismissive tone that ended the discussion.

 


	37. The Source of Magic

Friday night Elena made her way to the Astronomy Tower with a nervous flutter in her stomach. She wasn’t sure what to expect; like Dumbledore had suggested she had dressed in warm Muggle clothes and brought a woollen cloak she could pull on if the need should arise. She wasn’t certain what she could possibly need it for; it was still September, the nights didn’t get that cold yet.

_Maybe we’re going to leave the school?_ she pondered thoughtfully. The top of the Astronomy Tower seemed like an unlikely choice to train element bending. Then again she had no idea what the training would involve; from what she had seen other benders do so far she knew that bending required certain movements and gestures. Gideon hadn’t allowed her to watch him train, but he usually dressed rather lightly, more as if he was going to the gym and when he emerged after his training he was always drenched in sweat.

_So maybe we won’t actually start training today,_ she mused as she climbed the winding stairs to the top of the tower.

Dumbledore was already waiting for her. He was standing at the balustrade, watching the sun set behind the mountains in the west. When she stepped towards him he turned to face her with a smile. The last rays of the setting sun cast a glowing halo around his head.

“Good evening, Elena,” he greeted her jovially. As always he was wearing robes, tonight he had opted for midnight-blue ones.

“Good evening, Professor.”

“I hope your first week at Hogwarts was enjoyable,” said Dumbledore. “How are you settling in?”

“Good, thank you,” she answered truthfully. In fact she was settling in better than she had expected; she had found a friend in Hermione and she got along with Harry and Ron well enough. She had Daphne as well, even though her cousin hadn’t taken too kindly to Elena accusing both her former best friends of being Death Eaters.

“I am glad to hear that,” stated the headmaster. “You might be wondering why I asked you to meet me here; the answer is that we are going to leave the castle. Though my company should ensure your safety tonight, I have to ask you to obey any command I might give you at once, and without question.”

“Of course, Sir,” said Elena. “Where are we going?”

Dumbledore smiled at her eager tone. “We are going to visit a place as fabulous and shrouded in mystery as one could dream of,” he stated mysteriously. “I assume you are familiar with Side-Along Apparition?”

Elena nodded. “Yes, Sir.” Not that she was particularly fond of that method of transportation.

“Very well.” He offered her his left forearm.

She took a deep breath and tried to brace herself, then she took hold of the Professor’s arm. In the blink of an eye they were whisked away.

 

* * *

 

When Elena opened her eyes she was met with a sight she knew from pictures and postcards. They had arrived just in time to watch the sun set behind the characteristic sarsen stones; the last light was casting an unearthly reddish glow upon the decaying remains of the ancient monument. _Stonehenge._

They stood in silence as the light slowly faded and shadows started to creep in, dancing among the ruins; until the sun dipped below the horizon and darkness settled over the site.

Elena sucked in a breath, suddenly becoming aware that she had been holding it. The spell of the moment was broken, the noise from the nearby Muggle highway dispelling the aura of mystique. Now all she could see were some rocks in the faint moonlight.

Next to her Dumbledore sighed. “A pity what the Muggles have done to this place,” he stated quietly. “Every day they come here in their thousands; they can _feel_ that this site is special, even though they can’t grasp why...” The old man shook his head. “And yet they built their roads so close by.” From the sleeve of his robes he produced his wand and swung it; the drone of the cars faded away. He put the wand back into his robes and offered her his arm again. “Let’s move a little closer.”

This time he apparated them right into the centre of the stone circle. Up close the stones were even more imposing, looming over their heads and braving time and the elements thousands of years after they had been erected.

“Still quite impressive, isn’t it?” Dumbledore remarked slightly amused as Elena looked around with fascination, trying to take in everything at once.

“Impressive indeed, and mysterious...” the professor answered his own rhetorical question. “No wonder the Muggles are intrigued by it. Did you know that there are Muggle scientists who spend decades of their lives trying to decipher for what purpose it was built and how people managed to construct it without all of their modern technology?” He chuckled quietly. “If only they believed in magic!”

A chilly breeze had come up; Elena shivered and slipped into her cloak, now grateful that she had brought it. Dumbledore had fallen silent; he appeared to be lost in thought.

Tentatively she cleared her throat. “Excuse me, Professor, but what is its purpose?” _Why are we here?_ she wondered silently.

“That is an interesting question,” said Dumbledore. “Throughout the course of history this place has served a lot of different purposes; worship, sacrifice, celebration... these stones have seen a lot of things during the centuries.” He paused for a moment as if to gather his thoughts, then he nodded to himself and continued.

“You have to know this site was special long before our ancestors decided to mark it by building a monument, and it will still be special long after the stones have crumbled to dust.” He fixed her with an piercing look. “There are few people able to appreciate this place in all its complexity, and you enjoy the privilege to be one of them.”

Elena gulped and waited for him to elaborate. When he didn’t, she cautiously cleared her throat. “Forgive me, Professor, but I don’t understand... what exactly am I supposed to appreciate? It’s impressive, sure, but I still don’t see –”

Dumbledore interrupted her by sighing deeply. “Don’t look – listen! Close your eyes and use your other senses!”

Hesitantly she complied, squeezing her eyes tightly shut to concentrate on her sense of hearing. There was nothing but the sound of the wind; it had briskly picked up and the air was getting colder. Shivering she huddled into her cloak, straining her ears. _Still nothing remarkable._

“Are you listening?” asked Dumbledore.

“I am,” she hurried to assure him, “but all I’m hearing is the wind...”

“Don’t listen with your ears, use your mind,” the professor told her. “Listen into the earth!”

_Listen into the earth? What the hell?!_ Elena was more than sceptical, but she tried to do as Dumbledore had instructed her. Taking a deep breath, she struggled to block out the sound of the wind howling around them and concentrated. _Focus_ , she urged herself.

She opened her mind, like she had learned to do during her control lessons. Yet instead of letting someone else in, she concentrated her attention on the _outside_ , tentatively reaching out with her mind, until she felt Dumbledore’s presence next to her.

_That’s it,_ she heard the old man’s approving voice in her mind. _But you shouldn’t dwell on me; our surroundings are far more interesting!_

Elena did as he had told her and reached out further, stretching to make it as far as the stones towering around them. To her surprise she found that she could actually _sense_ them, somehow make out their general position and _see_ them in front of her inner eye. But that was about it; she could detect nothing special about them.

_Very accurate,_ Dumbledore’s voice commented in her mind. _The stones are just stones. Remember what I told you: listen into the earth – but be careful!_

Elena took another deep breath and focused her attention on the ground beneath her. After the inanimate stones the grass under her feet felt almost alive and it was also densely populated by living creatures, scuttling about and attending to their own business.

_Don’t get lost in the detail_ , Dumbledore warned her.

With some effort she tore her mind away from the interesting life of the ant colony she had found only a few feet from where she was standing. Slowly she felt her way deeper into the ground. Then she flinched violently, startled by an agile creature scurrying past in its burrow about two feet below the surface; after the ants it seemed to be gigantic.

_Only a mouse_. The professor’s voice in her mind sounded rather amused.

Elena took a deep breath and tried to calm her racing heartbeat. _Get it together,_ she told herself. Cautiously she pushed on, determined not to get jump-scared like that again. And then, all of the sudden, she could indeed _hear_ something, a roar far below, some kind of pulsation from the depth of the earth.

_What is that?_ she asked, completely aghast.

_That is the reason we came here tonight,_ Dumbledore pointed out. _You can try and get a little closer, but be careful – don’t let yourself get swept away._

Tentatively she reached out to the source of the noise. The closer she got the louder it became; she could feel the pulses echoing through her body, tingling along her nerves. The sensation seemed vaguely familiar. Energy seeped into her, spreading through muscles and bones, permeating every cell of her body. What had used to scare her now left her with a sense of power and strength. She relished in the feeling, avidly absorbing the raw magic – until she suddenly felt a demanding pull on her mind.

_I think that is enough,_ remarked Dumbledore. The subtle reproach in his thought was enough to snap her out of it.

Elena sucked in a breath, coming back to her senses. She tore her eyes open, fixing the professor with sense of shock and shame. “I didn’t mean to...” She trailed off, shaking her head as if to clear her mind. “What was that?”

Dumbledore was silent for a moment, regarding her intently. “You tell me,” he said then. “What do you think it was?”

“Magic,” she said without a doubt. “Raw, powerful magic... but where does it come from?”

The old man smiled at her. “Where all magic comes from,” he stated mysteriously. “Magic derives from nature; it is in earth, air, water, fire – it is part of all living things... a simple truth, sadly forgotten by most wizards nowadays.” Slowly he shook his head. “An obsolete truth, as one could argue... rendered redundant as soon as the first wand was crafted. An instrument to channel magic at any place, any time – so why pause to wonder where that magic came from?”

Dumbledore paused, apparently lost in thought. In the pale moonlight he looked immensely old, as if the weight of centuries was burdening him. Then he sighed and returned his focus on her. “As benders we have a more pronounced connection towards magic than the average wizard,” he lectured her. “We can sense it, form it, and even store it in our bodies to a certain extent.”

The professor gave her a pointed look. “That is what you just did instinctively – you reached out and absorbed the magic from the source. You have to be careful though,” he added in a warning tone, “always remember your limits! If you take too much, you _will_ lose control... the magic will break free and destroy your body.”

Elena shivered with coldness and horror. “I understand,” she said quietly. “It won’t happen again... it just took me by surprise, that’s all.” Somehow she felt the need to vindicate herself. “I thought these powers that I have came from within...” She struggled to express herself. “You know, so far I always had that _energy_ building up, growing until it got released... I didn’t know that I was able to take it up deliberately.”

Dumbledore smiled amused. “Well, that was your body absorbing magic of its own accord. Remember what I told you – magic is everywhere, in the earth, in the air... your body is able to pick that up. Most benders solely rely on that sort of energy intake. There are few still able to go straight to the source.”

She frowned, thinking about his words. “But why is that?”

The old man seemed to ponder her question. “I can’t tell you for sure.” Thoughtfully he shook his head. “The invention of the wand opened countless magical possibilities, but it also made us lazy. We forgot where our origins lie; we lost our connection to nature.” He frowned, emphasizing the numerous wrinkles lining his face. “In that respect we are no better than our Muggle counterparts.” With his healthy hand he made a sweeping gesture, including the crumbling monument and the Muggle highway where the headlights of many cars were still passing by in complete silence.

Dumbledore watched them for a while, before he turned back to face her with a serious expression. “I brought you here tonight to teach you about this place – about its true meaning once known to every wizard and witch of Britannia.” He paused for effect and regarded her intently. “Here, at our feet lies the beating heart of Britannia, the sole source of all its magic. From here it spreads throughout the country, carried into the furthest corners by the elements. That is why this place is sacred, why our ancestors marked it by building this monument.”

Awestruck Elena let his words sank in, pondering them one by one. Slowly a realisation took shape in her head. She cleared her throat, daring to ask a question. “Professor, you said this was the source of magic for _Britannia_ ,” she said cautiously, “but there are wizards in other countries. Where does their magic come from then?”

The professor gave her a small smile. “A very perceptive question, Elena,” he stated approvingly. “There are other places like this all over the world,” he pointed out. “However, as benders you and I are bound to this country by the blood of our ancestors; we depend on the magic of Stonehenge. Leave Britannia, and your powers will fade until you have to rely solely on your wand to wield magic.”

Elena frowned at that, not quite following. “But Sir, I spent most of my life in the states, but I still had those _outbursts_ at Ilvermorny... if what you say is true, I should’ve never developed my powers there, right?”

Now Dumbledore was smiling brightly, nodding with apparent delight. “Precisely! There we have the reason why your mother decided to leave the country with you when you were only a baby. Catherine deliberately tried to prevent your powers from awakening.” He lightly shook his head, looking amused. “It should have worked, yet her plan failed... Can you imagine why?”

She thought hard about his question, but came up with nothing, shaking her head.

The old man regarded her over the rim of his spectacles, in the moonlight his eyes were twinkling. “Your mother brought you away from Britannia, out of the influence of its magic, and yet you developed your powers. The answer to this paradox is quite simple: You have a connection to this country that Catherine couldn’t sever, a link that she didn’t quite understand.”

Elena still wasn’t sure she understood him correctly. “Has it something to do with... you know, the whole _Merlin-thing_?” she asked anxiously.

Dumbledore shook his head. “Not in the slightest.” He focused her intently. “Tell me, Elena; the first time your powers showed - how did that happen?”

She drew in a breath, realisation finally sinking in. _The nightmares!_ she thought excitedly. _Harry Potter..._

The professor was watching her expectantly. She gulped. “I had a nightmare,” she told him with slight hesitation.

“I see,” stated Dumbledore. He tilted his head towards her. “And did that... _nightmare_ of yours involve something - or rather _someone -_ in particular?”

_He knows,_ Elena thought blankly. _But how?_ She bit her lip, eying him suspiciously. _Well, maybe he can tell me why..._ She took a deep breath, bracing herself. “Harry Potter.”

The old man nodded once. “That’s what I thought,” he said, as if he was talking to himself.

She waited anxiously, but he didn’t say more. Slightly annoyed, she cleared her throat. “Professor, why do I have this connection?” she asked impatiently, desperate to finally learn the truth. “And how does it work?”

A shadow of a smile passed across the headmaster’s face. “I’m sure you can tell me exactly how it works,” he said, sounding lightly amused. “As to why you have this connection... I’m still trying to figure that out myself.” He frowned thoughtfully. “I do have a theory, but it lacks certain facts... once I have acquired those, I am going to share it with you.”

“But why can’t you tell me now?” She couldn’t help but ask.

Dumbledore smiled indulgently. “Patience, Elena. I would assume I already gave you enough to think about for tonight.” He consulted his pocket watch. “Yes; it is time for us to return to Hogwarts.”

As he stowed his watch away in his robes, Elena bit her lip. _What about my training?_

As if on cue the professor raised his head to face her. “I thought we could hold your first practical lesson in elemental magic on Sunday evening. Does that work for you?”

Elena frowned at him. _Has he read my thoughts again?_ She gulped. “Of course, Sir. At 8pm?”

Dumbledore nodded. “Yes. This time I would like you to meet me in the entrance hall.”

“Okay,” said Elena, silently wondering why the professor didn’t seem to be concerned about meeting in such a public place.

“Splendid,” stated Dumbledore merrily and offered her his arm.

She took a deep breath and hold on to it; instantly they were whisked away.

 

* * *

 

When they arrived back at the top of the Astronomy Tower she was hit by a sudden realisation. Curiously she cleared her throat. “Professor? May I ask another question?”

“But of course!” Dumbledore gave her a lenient smile.

“I’m currently reading this book about Hogwarts, and it clearly states the impossibility to apparate within the school grounds,” she pointed out. “But we just did, didn’t we?”

“Indeed!” The headmaster’s smile brightened. “Well, being me has its privileges, you know.” He winked at her, but didn’t elaborate further. “And now, since it is already way past curfew, I shall escort you back to the Gryffindor tower.”


	38. Sleepwalking

Blaise could hardly keep his eyes open. The sounds of voices and laughter around him blurred into a soft murmur, lulling him to sleep. He was on the verge of dozing off right on top of his homework, in the middle of the usual hubbub taking hold of the Slytherin common room on a regular Friday night. _Just give in,_ whispered a voice in his head, trying to coax him into getting some much-needed rest.

_Not yet,_ Blaise told himself and blinked several times, forcing his weary eyes to focus back on his essay on _The Principles of Rematerialization._ It was tiresome work, the topic as dry as a bone, but he was determined to finish the assignment tonight. Maybe that would suffice to _bore_ him into a dreamless sleep.

_Unlikely_ , he thought resignedly. Since he had returned to Hogwarts he hadn’t managed to get a full night’s sleep even once. At best he would have a few hours before his nightmare came to haunt him, startling him out of it. Then he would spend the rest of the night tossing and turning in his bed, brooding. _Almost a week now and I haven’t made any progress at all!_

The thought alone was enough to drive him up the wall. Blaise had tried everything to let out his frustration; running around the lake to total exhaustion, training until he was completely drained of energy... It was all for nothing; these days even sex wouldn’t help him relax. Not that he hadn’t given the latter his best shot – just this morning Draco had asked him whether he was trying to set some kind of record.

He sighed and glanced over to where Malfoy was lounging by the fire. Draco seemed to be in high spirits tonight. With a drink in his hand that looked suspiciously like firewhiskey and Pansy on his lap, he was where he craved to be – at the centre of attention. He was surrounded by the usual crowd of lackeys and lickspittles; Crabbe and Goyle of course, Nott, Bullstrode, Vaisey and Urquhart, all of them hanging on Draco’s every word.

Blaise grimaced in disdain. _Looks like his little project is going well then, if he has time to hold court._ He frowned, turning his attention back to his essay. _Only half a foot to go..._ He groaned unwillingly and scribbled on.

“Someone’s being studious,” stated an amused voice a few minutes later, breaking his concentration. Astoria had approached him in his corner; gracefully she seated herself in the chair next to him. “Are you aspiring to outshine Granger this year?”

“Not much of a chance there,” he stated dryly.

Astoria gave a silvery laugh. “Not really, by all accounts,” she remarked blithely. “So, why are you holed up by yourself here in the corner? Don’t feel like celebrating the first weekend back at Hogwarts?” Her tone was teasing, but she was watching him intently.

Blaise shrugged, carefully controlling his expression. “Not particularly, no. I’d rather finish this essay, so if you don’t mind...” He let his voice trail off with a hint of impatience.

“Actually, I do mind.” Astoria leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. “Why don’t you put that essay aside for a minute and tell me what’s up with you?”

He had to stifle a groan of frustration, forcing himself to meet her gaze. “Not much, really; I just want to finish my homework.”

She didn’t seem impressed by his gruff demeanour. “I can tell something’s going on with you, Blaise. You’re more aloof than usual – I wouldn’t have believed that was even possible!” She said it with a twinkle in her eye, yet there was something adamant about her expression.

A sudden outburst of roaring laughter spared him the need to answer. Apparently Draco had decided to re-enact his recent triumph over Potter _yet again_ , to the amusement of his audience. Blaise looked up just in time to see him miming the shattering of a nose to raucous laughter and applause.

Astoria sighed next to him. “Seriously, will he ever grow up?”

“Probably not,” he replied resignedly.

They watched as Draco accepted the applause from the onlookers with a small bow; then he grabbed Pansy, who squealed in surprise, and started making out with her, cheered on by his audience.

“Ugh!” made Astoria, wrinkling her nose. “That’s gross!”

Blaise couldn’t help but agree with her, the sight was definitely not for the faint-hearted.

With an exaggerated shudder Astoria averted her gaze from the couple. “What in Merlin’s name does he see in her?” she asked with an expression of utter disgust. “I mean, apart from the fact that she’s willing to let him shag her whenever he feels like it.”

Completely aghast Blaise gaped at her; hearing such words from the mouth of Daphne’s sweet little sister rendered him speechless for a moment. In his mind Astoria was still a child, far too innocent to talk like that.

She chuckled about his flabbergasted expression. “Shut your mouth, you’ll catch a flie.”

Awkwardly he gulped. “How did you grow up so fast, Tori?”

Astoria snorted, eying him with obvious amusement. “I’m not a child anymore, Blaise. I’m _fifteen_ , though you probably forgot about that, since you also forgot to attend my birthday party.” There was a distinct hint of reproach in her tone.

He opened his mouth to apologize, but apparently she wasn’t finished.

“Are you ever going to tell us what you were doing all summer? It would seem you were so busy that you couldn’t even find the time to return Daphne’s letters,” she went on; her blue eyes were piercing him accusingly. “By the way, you promised me you would make up with her. How is that going?”

Blaise flinched and averted his gaze. “Not so well,” he admitted reluctantly. In fact Daphne had refused to talk to him all week, though he had caught her watching him several times.

Astoria eyed him expectantly. “And?”

“And nothing,” he told her, unable to keep the irritation from his voice. “She doesn’t speak with me and when I try talking to her she basically ignores me. What am I supposed to do?”

She perked an elegant brow. “You could just tell her the truth, Blaise,” she stated matter-of-factly. “Daphne is convinced you’re hiding something from her and I’m starting to think she might be right about that. You know, she even warned me to stay away from you!”

Blaise sucked in a breath, deeply shocked by her words. “But _why_...” His voice failed him; vigorously he cleared his throat. “Why would she do that?”

Astoria was watching him like a hawk. “You tell me.”

“I don’t know, Tori,” he said desperately. “I don’t know what to tell you, and I don’t know what to say to Daphne anymore.” He shrugged helplessly. “But there’s no need for you to stay away from me – please believe me!”

Her expression softened a bit. “I never thought there was,” she stated quietly. “Whenever you’re ready to talk about it – whatever it is – I’m here to listen.” She gave him a meaningful look. “Okay?”

Blaise bit his lip; suddenly he had to fight to hold back his damned tears. He blinked rapidly, trying to get a hold of himself. “Okay,” he managed to say.

“Okay,” repeated Astoria softly. She reached out to briefly squeeze his hand and then she got up from her chair and left without another word.

He stared after her, feeling lousy. There was no way he could tell her the truth, no more than he could tell Daphne. _No one can know._ He swallowed hard. If Daphne ever learned about Bianca’s secret, she would hate him for keeping her in the dark all these years, no doubt. And even if she could forgive him _eventually_ , she would never agree with his current plans. _Never ever._

No, Daphne would try to talk him out of it, she would say he needed to _forgive and forget_... Blaise clenched his fists under the table. _Yeah, never going to happen._ He would have his revenge, or die trying.

 

* * *

 

It wasn’t even midnight when he woke with a start, once again screaming at the top of his lungs. Struggling to catch his breath, he sat up in bed. _Bloody Hell!_ With a yawn he rubbed his tired eyes. _So much for getting some sleep tonight..._

Loud snoring told him that his roommates were still fast asleep; after startling them the first night Blaise had taken great care to put up a silencing charm whenever he went to bed. He took a quick glance around. In the darkness of the dorm he could make out the faint silhouettes of Nott, Crabbe and Goyle in their beds; Draco’s curtains were drawn. _Guess he has Pansy keeping him company tonight,_ he thought with shudder of disgust.

Trying to calm his rapid heartbeat Blaise took a deep breath and sank back into the pillows. He was bone-tired, yet there was simply no point in trying to fall asleep again. _Damn it!_ If things went on like this he would have to go to Madam Pomfrey and ask for a Sleeping Draught. Or perhaps he could brew the potion himself in order to avoid the worried questions of the elderly matron... He didn’t really like the thought of having to drug himself to sleep, but what other option was there? It wasn’t as if he could continue like this.

Suddenly he heard a rustling from Draco’s bed, someone’s weight shifting on the mattress and then the sound of the curtains being drawn. Instantly he froze in place, feigning sleep. Through his half-closed lids Blaise watched as Draco climbed out of his bed, taking great pains not to wake Pansy, and quickly slipped into his clothes.

_What is he up to?_ Blaise wondered curiously. _Off to another bed? Or rather pulling an all-nighter for his special project?_ A sudden sense of excitement caused his heart to beat a little faster, his exhaustion forgotten. _Let’s see._

He waited until the door had closed behind Draco, then he jumped out of bed and followed him. He didn’t bother with getting dressed; no one would see him anyway. _What are runes for..._

 

* * *

 

He caught up to Draco as he crossed the common room and headed for the exit. Clearly intent on not being followed, Malfoy hurried through the dungeons, throwing a nervous glance back over his shoulder whenever he turned around a corner. Blaise followed him like a silent shadow as he rushed up the stairs to the entrance hall and then turned to climb the main staircase.

Twice Draco had to stop and hide; the first time to dodge a prefect on patrol, the other time in order to avoid running into Filch and his cat. Blaise didn’t take the trouble to hide out; thanks to his invisibility rune he could easily dare to stand right in the middle of the corridor and watch as the patrols passed by. Only Mrs Norris seemed to sense him, her bulging yellow, lamp-like eyes scrutinizing him reproachfully. Yet thankfully the scrawny cat didn’t raise an alarm, but darted after her master in silence.

Draco climbed staircase after staircase and slowly Blaise’s fatigue was starting to show; his legs were as heavy as lead and he caught himself wishing that they would reach their destination soon. Finally Malfoy stopped in front of an enormous tapestry depicting Barnabas the Barmy’s foolish attempt to train trolls for the ballet. Slightly bewildered Blaise watched as Draco paced along the opposite wall three times; then he gasped in surprise as a door suddenly materialised in the wall.

Malfoy quickly looked around, and then he opened the door to enter, pulling it shut behind him. _What is this place?_ Blaise wondered curiously. He couldn’t remember ever noticing a door in this particular stretch of wall. Cautiously he approached the door, pressing his ear against the wood to listen. But even though he enhanced his hearing he couldn’t catch anything to help him determine the purpose of the room behind it.

Blaise frowned. _Well, only one way to find out._ He took a deep breath to brace himself and reached for the door handle. Yet just as he was about to grab it, the door disappeared right in front of him, leaving only a blank wall. Taken by surprise he sucked in a breath. _What the hell?_

At that very moment he felt the hairs stand up at the back of his neck. _I’m not alone._ He knew it without a doubt, his instincts were infallible. Abruptly Blaise reached for his wand, but before he could get a grip on it he was already hit by a silent curse. His arms snapped to his sides, his legs sprang together. With his whole body gone rigid, he swayed where he stood and then fell forward, hitting his head hard against the wall. Seeing stars for the moment he helplessly slumped to the floor.

Warm blood was streaming from his nose; his head felt like it was about to explode. _Full Body-Bind,_ he thought dully. _But who...?_ Unfortunately he was facing the floor, unable to see anything.

At the sound of approaching footsteps his heart started beating frantically, pumping adrenaline through his veins. He was utterly defenceless, at the mercy of whoever had attacked him... The steps came closer and stopped right next to him; then he felt the tip of a wand pressing against his back.

“Show yourself!” demanded a cold and unpleasantly familiar voice.

_Snape!_ Realisation caused his heart to miss a beat. _Damn it!_

“Now!” commanded Snape, emphasising his demand by rudely poking his wand into his back.

There was no choice but to yield up to his fate and do as he was told. Blaise cursed silently and deactivated the invisibility rune.

There was a sharp intake of breath from Snape. “Zabini?!” Then he muttered something else and Blaise felt the curse being lifted.

Trying to cling to his last shred of dignity he took a deep breath and pushed himself of the ground, struggling to sit up. In the light of his wand Snape was eying him sternly, his dark eyes piercing into his own. Hurriedly Blaise averted his gaze, doing his best to close up his mind.

“What do you think you’re doing out here in the middle of the night?” Snape scolded him. “And in this... _attire_?”

Blaise gritted his teeth and hastily got to his feet. _Perhaps I should have dressed after all._ Under Snape’s scrutinizing glare he was definitely wishing to be wearing more than boxers and a T-shirt. Awkwardly he cleared his throat. “I was just getting some air.”

Snape frowned at him. “It is way past curfew,” he stated dourly. “And you are a long way from the dungeons.” He narrowed his black eyes in suspicion. “Why are you sneaking around up here?”

_Same reason as you, I’d wager,_ Blaise thought grimly. Draco would certainly be very interested to learn that Snape was spying on him; then again, he couldn’t tell him without revealing he had done the same thing.

“Well?” Snape asked, seemingly getting impatient.

Blaise assumed a look of innocence. “Really, Professor; I was just stretching my legs and not paying attention to where I was going... I didn’t realize how late it was already...”

Snape’s gaze pierced him where he stood; clearly the professor hadn’t bought his story one bit. He curled his lip and then he opened his mouth, undoubtedly to give him a good scolding, when they were startled by the sound of approaching footsteps.

Instinctively he reached for his wand, but Snape shot him a warning look, so that he let his hand drop back to his side. _Runes it is then,_ Blaise thought resignedly. He was already dangerously low on energy, but didn’t fancy the idea of getting overpowered for the second time in a row.

The footsteps drew closer and then a sphere of light floated around the corner; a lightened wand, illuminating the way for two people. When he recognized the man holding the wand, Blaise had to suppress a gasp of surprise. _Dumbledore! Now, this is awkward._

“Severus!” exclaimed the headmaster. “Up so late?” Then his gaze fell onto Blaise and as he noticed the state of his face, a look of worry spread across his features. “What happened to you, Mr Zabini?”

Involuntarily Blaise raised a hand to touch his face, evaluating the damage. His nose had already healed, but he was smeared with blood. _Bloody fabulous,_ he thought wryly. Dumbledore was watching him with mild concern. Blaise took a deep breath and decided to improvise. “I tripped in the dark.”

“I see,” stated the headmaster, taking in the rest of his appearance with obvious amusement. “I assume you were sleepwalking?”

“Right.” He nodded, trying hard to keep his countenance despite the unfavourable circumstances.

“A troublesome affliction,” remarked Dumbledore merrily.

“Indeed,” Snape intervened. “I was just about to escort Mr Zabini back to his common room.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” said the headmaster. “We wouldn’t want him to trip again.”

“No, we wouldn’t,” drawled Snape and beckoned Blaise to follow him. “Let’s go, Zabini.”

But Blaise had frozen in place, only now having registered _who_ Dumbledore’s companion was. Half-hidden behind the headmaster, careful to keep her face out of the light of his wand, stood Elena de Villiers. He gritted his teeth to refrain from growling. _For Merlin’s sake! She’s truly everywhere!_

The girl’s gaze was trained on him. When he realised what she was staring at, he quickly turned his arm, hiding it from view. She narrowed her eyes; Blaise thought that she looked somewhat surprised. _Not what you expected to see?_ he thought irately. _Well, sorry to disappoint._

Snape audibly cleared his throat. “Zabini? Are you still with us?”

He flinched, forcing himself to turn back to the professor. “Yes, Sir.”

Snape nodded briefly at Dumbledore, completely ignored the girl, and started to move. Blaise hurried to follow him.

 

* * *

 

They made all the way down to the dungeons in silence. Snape marched ahead with his dark robes billowing behind him, making him look like some overgrown bat. He didn’t lead him back to the common room though, instead taking a turn and heading for his office.

Not sure what he was in for, Blaise tried to brace himself. He followed Snape into his office, doing his best to ignore the slimy dead objects that were suspended in coloured potions all around the walls. The head of Slytherin house took a seat behind his desk; since there was nowhere for him to sit, Blaise remained standing, waiting for the verdict.

Appraisingly Snape looked him up and down, curling his lip in a derogatory manner. “So Zabini,” he said finally, “is there anything you would like to tell me?” His dark eyes were piercing into his; once again Snape was trying to simply snatch the truth right from his mind.

_Not a chance._ Blaise met his gaze defiantly, blocking him with some effort. The strain was enough to make him break out in a cold sweat, but he managed to hold his ground.

Eventually Snape gave up. “I see,” he stated softly. Then he straightened himself. “Detention, Zabini. I’ll see you tomorrow morning, 10am sharp. Now, off to bed with you. And do something about your... _face_.”

“Yes, Sir.” Blaise nodded curtly and fled the office as quickly as he could.

_What now?_ he pondered as soon as he was out of sight of Snape’s office door. He was completely exhausted, his head was killing him and he didn’t feel one bit like climbing all the stairs to Draco’s mysterious room again. _Not tonight_ , he decided. Now that he knew where Malfoy snuck off to, he could just try and follow him another day.

 

 


	39. Secrets

For the third time within a minute Elena yawned loudly, without even attempting to stifle it. Hermione looked up from the pile of old papers she was brooding about and gave her a worried look. “Seriously,” she whispered, lowering her voice in order to not disturb the quiet of the library, “did you sleep at all last night?”

“Barely,” Elena answered in a hushed tone, before she struggled to suppress another yawn.

Hermione frowned at her. “Dumbledore must have kept you up quite late. When did you say you returned to the common room?” She wasn’t able to keep a hint of suspicion from her voice. Her roommate had been out so long that Hermione had already gone to bed before her return, way past curfew. But when she had asked Elena this morning what she had discussed with the headmaster for hours on end, she had only gotten vague answers.

This time all she got was an absentminded shrug. “It was rather late, I guess,” stated Elena, while she continued to frantically flick through _Spellman’s Syllabary_ , like she had done since they had sat down.

Hermione couldn’t help but wince at her rough handling of the book; cautiously she cleared her throat. “Are you searching for something in particular?”

The other girl paused in turning pages and threw her a quick glance. “Actually I am,” she said. “I’m looking for a specific rune, but I can’t seem to find it.”

“Maybe I can help,” Hermione offered without hesitation. “What does it look like? Can you draw it?”

“I can’t,” Elena said with a frown. “Unfortunately I’ve only seen part of it.”

“Okay... so where have you seen it?”

Instantly the other girl assumed a shuttered expression. “I... don’t remember,” she answered, hesitating ever so slightly.

Hermione narrowed her eyes in suspicion. _Did she just lie to my face?_ “I see,” she stated thoughtfully. “Maybe you could draw the part you have seen then?”

Elena picked up her quill and started scratching on a piece of parchment. It took her a few tries to get it right; then she handed her the parchment with a hopeful look. “Does that ring a bell?”

Curiously she examined the fragmentary rune the other girl had sketched, turning the slip of parchment a few times to look at it from all angles.

“And?” Elena asked eagerly.

Hermione took a last look at the rune and shook her head. “Doesn’t look like anything to me.” She gave her an intent look. “Are you sure you don’t remember where you encountered it?”

“Yes.” Elena averted her gaze, once again starting to flip through the _Syllabary._

_Why would she lie about it?_ Hermione suppressed a sigh of resignation, deciding to take a slightly different approach. “Why do you want to find it so badly?”

The other girl looked up and shrugged. “It got stuck in my mind and I just need to know what it means, you know?”

With that Hermione could indeed sympathise. Frowning, she returned her attention to her own little project for the day, the pile of dusty old newspapers she was sifting through for a mention of Harry’s dodgy _Half-Blood Prince._ It had taken her almost a week of persistent enquiry and nagging until he had finally given in and told her the truth about his borrowed copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_.

Part of her had been relieved; having Harry constantly achieving better results at _Potions_ of all subjects had started to seriously unnerve her. But now that she had found out about the cause of his sudden brilliance, she couldn’t help but worry about the former owner of the book. Something about that mysterious student just seemed _odd_.

He or she had been smart, no doubt. Even brilliant, when it came to Potions. Yet something about the spells and jinxes drafted in the book, apparently made up by the former owner himself, sounded her alarm bells. _Seriously, how can the boys find those funny?_ She shook her head in disapproval and unfolded another yellowed issue of _The Daily Prophet_ , trying hard not to sneeze as the stirred up dust tickled her nose, eventually losing the fight.

“Bless you!” Startled by her sneeze Elena raised her head, taking in the dusty papers piling on their table with a grin. “You’re really being stubborn about this, you know,” she remarked. “Why is unmasking the _Prince_ so important to you?”

Hermione just shrugged. “Why do you need to find that mysterious rune of yours?” she retorted.

“Touché!” Elena gave her a small smile, before turning serious again. “I can’t shake the feeling that it’s important,” she said quietly.

“Then you know why I need to find out about the _Half-Blood Prince_ ,” replied Hermione. “Something about that person is just weird; I don’t like Harry using the book.”

The other girl perked a brow. “And why is that? Because of the sketchy former owner or rather because it helps him with Potions?”

She gritted her teeth, slightly angry with herself. “Both, actually,” she admitted reluctantly.

Elena grinned, clearly amused. “You truly can’t stand it when someone bests you, can you,” she teased her. When Hermione scowled in response, she chuckled. “Let Harry use the book - it won’t help him when real understanding of the matter is required.”

“I guess it won’t,” said Hermione, slightly appeased by the notion. “Still – I want to know who that stupid _Prince_ was,” she insisted.

“In that case: Back to work!” Elena sighed and bent over her book once more.

 

* * *

 

For a while they worked in silence, until they were startled out of their concentration by someone pulling up a chair to join them at their table.

“Hey Daphne!” Elena greeted Greengrass with a hint of surprise in her voice. Since she had suggested to the Slytherin that Malfoy might be a Death Eater, Hermione had noticed Greengrass acting somewhat reserved towards her cousin.

“Hello, Elena.” The Slytherin looked remarkably weary in contrast to her usual radiant appearance. “Granger.” Greengrass nodded curtly in her direction.

“Hello,” Hermione mumbled vaguely. She still couldn’t help but feel on edge in the Slytherin’s presence.

“You look like hell,” stated Elena, eying her cousin worriedly. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, just the same old story,” Greengrass replied with a frown. “Astoria doesn’t listen to me... she won’t stay away from him.” She had lowered her voice to a hushed whisper and leaned close to her cousin, making it very obvious that she didn’t want Hermione to be part of the conversation.

_That figures_ , she thought angrily, straining her ears. _Are they talking about Malfoy?_

“Not that long ago you told me you had nothing to fear from him,” said Elena, not bothering to lower her voice the way the Slytherin did. “Are you afraid he won’t show the same _restraint_ when it comes to your little sister?”

Greengrass raised her shoulders in a gesture of helplessness. “I don’t know,” she admitted quietly, looking quite careworn. “I don’t know what to think anymore... I watched him closely this week – he seems so... _different.”_

_Malfoy is acting strange? Now, this is going to interest Harry,_ mused Hermione. Then again, probably better not to give him any ideas...

“Well...” Elena said slowly, “I might have some new insight – sort of.” She paused and briefly looked around, as if to make sure nobody was able to eavesdrop. “His... _secret,_ it’s not what I thought it was.”

_What are they talking about?_ Hermione was starting to get frustrated with being left in the dark.

Greengrass’ eyes had widened; apparently she had understood Elena’s cryptic remark perfectly well. “How do you know?”

Elena sighed. “You were right – it was just a rune.”

_A rune?_ thought Hermione. _The rune she’s looking for?_

“Thank Merlin!” Greengrass breathed a sigh of relief. Then she narrowed her eyes at her cousin. “But how did you find out?”

“That doesn’t matter.” Elena shrugged her shoulders. “Still... I don’t think you should trust him.”

“I’m quite able to decide that for myself,” stated Greengrass defiantly; the look from her blue eyes had become steely. “In fact I think I’ll go and confront him right now.” She rose from her chair and turned to leave, but Elena quickly grabbed her wrist to hold her back.

“No!” she almost shouted, earning herself a stern look from Madam Pince. “No,” she repeated in a frantic whisper. “You can’t, Daphne. What if he snaps? He’s _dangerous_ – why don’t you see that?”

Greengrass freed her arm with a forceful yank. “He’d never hurt me,” she declared icily. “I know you don’t like him, but he’s my friend.” She paused to throw a pointed look in Hermione’s direction. “I never complained about your choice of _friends_.” And with that she turned on the spot and left the library in a hurry.

Elena had slumped in her chair, staring after her cousin with an expression of deep concern. When Hermione tentatively cleared her throat, she flinched and turned to face her.

“What was _that_ about?” Hermione asked anxiously.

The other girl sighed. “That was my cousin once again deciding to turn a deaf ear to my suspicion concerning her... _friends._ ” The last word she said with obvious reluctance.

“Were you talking about Malfoy?” enquired Hermione. “I thought you didn’t believe in Harry’s theory...” She trailed off, frowning suspiciously.

“Not Malfoy - don’t get me started on _him_.” Elena huffed. “No, this was about bloody Zabini.”

“Zabini?” Hermione raised her brows in surprise. “What about him?”

The other girl bit her lip; for a moment she looked like she was debating something in her head. Then, seemingly having reached a decision, she leaned closer and lowered her voice to a hushed whisper. “I was pretty sure he’s a Death Eater.”

Hermione gasped in shock. “ _A Death Eater?!_ – Zabini?” She couldn’t believe it, narrowing her eyes at the other girl. “Harry went on and on about Malfoy, and you never found it worth mentioning that you suspect his best friend of being a Death Eater?” Her voice rose with her temper, prompting Elena to cast a quick glance in Madam Pince’s direction.

“Sh!” she made worriedly. “Not so loud!” She met Hermione’s accusing stare with an apologetic expression. “Look, I promised Daphne I wouldn’t talk about it... so I didn’t.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter now – because I was wrong.” Slowly Elena shook her head. “He’s not... you know, one of _them_.”

Hermione regarded her intently, pondering her words. Then she was hit by a sudden realisation. “You got a look at his arm, didn’t you,” she said excitedly. “That’s what you meant earlier – ‘ _just a rune’_.”

“Right.” Elena nodded. “That’s the rune I’m trying to find, actually.” She patted _Spellman’s Syllabary_ with a thoughtful look. “His arm – somehow the rune looked _wrong_... more like a scar-” She broke off and bit her lip as if she had said too much.

Hermione frowned at her. “Okay, first of all: How did you manage to get a closer look at his arm? Please don’t tell me you took a page from Harry’s book and snuck into the Slytherin quarters!” She gave her a look of stern disapproval.

Elena rolled her eyes dramatically. “Don’t worry – that wasn’t necessary. I ran into him when I was on my way back to the Gryffindor tower last night and he was rather... _sparsely dressed_.”

“Sparsely dressed?” Scandalised by her words Hermione forgot about her anger and pressed a hand to her mouth. “You didn’t catch him... you know, _with a girl_? He does have quite a reputation – you should hear what Lavender and Parvati tell about him...” Upon realising that she was rambling she broke off hastily, blushing in embarrassment.

The other girl chuckled quietly. “Not that sparsely... sorry to disappoint.” She gave her a wink. “And I don’t think Zabini had any romantic intentions – unless he was there for a rendezvous with Snape.”

Hermione sucked in a breath. “Snape was there as well?”

“Yeah.” Elena’s expression darkened. “It was simply _weird.”_ She shook her head. “Zabini’s face was smeared with blood... like he had been attacked or something.”

She frowned at that. “But you said he’s a rune warrior, right? Then it should be quite difficult for someone to overpower him, from what I’ve read...”

Elena shrugged her shoulders. “I’m just telling you what I saw... no idea what happened or what he was up too.” She narrowed her eyes. “Nothing good, I’d bet. Anyway – at least I’ve learned that he’s not a Death Eater.”

Hermione regarded her thoughtfully. “What did you mean when you said that the rune looked wrong? How do you even know what it’s supposed to look like? Have you seen pictures or...” She trailed off, not daring to voice the alternative.

With a sigh the other girl averted her gaze, closing her eyes for a second. When she opened them again, facing Hermione, she looked rather defensive. “Look, I’m not trying to keep secrets from you, but there are some things I can’t tell you.” Her tone was almost pleading now. “Yes, I’ve seen runes on skin before – but I’d rather not say where. I was told that it’s better to keep quiet about such things.”

Touched by the genuine distress evident in Elena’s expression Hermione decided to refrain from pressing her on. “I see,” she stated softly. “I didn’t mean to pry... I was just curious.”

“I know.” Elena gave her a strained smile.

Hermione returned the smile cautiously, accepting the fact that she wouldn’t be able to learn more right now. _Maybe some other time._ Turning back to the stack of dusty _Prophets_ in front of her, she grimaced with reluctance. _Guess I won’t learn anything about the Half-Blood Prince either._ She sighed resignedly and shoved the newspapers back into a neat pile. “How about dinner?” she suggested.

“Sounds good to me,” Elena agreed eagerly. “I’m starving.” She gathered her books and then the girls left the library, heading down to the Great Hall.

 

* * *

 

 

At the Gryffindor table they joined Harry and Ron, who were already halfway through their meal.

“How is Hagrid?” Hermione enquired as soon as she had sat down.

Hagrid hadn’t taken too kindly to his three favourite students giving up his subject; the whole week he had avoided them where he could, ignoring their greetings when they passed him in the corridors, and he had even stopped coming to meals at the staff table. Therefore Harry and Ron had decided this afternoon to pay him a visit in order to soothe the waters.

“No idea,” muttered Harry; his expression had darkened. “We must have knocked at his door for at least half an hour, but he wouldn’t see us.”

A sense of unease and shame rose in the pit of her stomach. “Maybe he simply wasn’t at home?” she suggested half-heartedly.

Grimly Harry shook his head. “He was definitely there, Fang was barking the whole time.”

Hermione sighed. “I hate this. We have to try again; he can’t keep on ignoring us forever.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” stated Ron darkly, “he can be pretty stubborn if he wants to be.”

“Perhaps he just needs some time to cool down,” said Hermione. “And then we go to him and explain...”

“What’s there to explain?” Ron cut in. “No one likes his stupid subject, that’s all!”

“That’s not true!” she argued instinctively, even though a small part of her thought that Ron might have a point there.

“Never mind,” Harry piped up. “I think you’re right, Hermione. We give him some time to stew and then we’ll go and talk to him. We’ll try until he gives in. That much we owe to him – he’s our friend after all.”

 

* * *

 

After dinner they returned to the Gryffindor tower. Hermione immediately got started on her homework; after spending the whole day with her fruitless search for the _Half-Blood Prince_ she was way behind schedule. Once again Elena was aimlessly flipping through _Spellman’s Syllabary,_ yawning now and then, while the boys got into another Quidditch discussion. Apparently they had caught a glimpse of the Ravenclaw try-outs on their way back from Hagrid’s hut, and now they felt the need to discuss their observations.

“I’m telling you, Ravenclaw is going to be some tough competition this year,” declared Ron. “Chang seems to be in top form...”

Hermione noticed how Harry flinched at the mention of the pretty Ravenclaw seeker, seemingly still not that comfortable with being reminded of his brief romance from last year.

“Of course she has no chance against you,” Ron assured him hurriedly. “But their chasers looked quite good as well... we really have to worry about our beaters.”

“Yeah,” agreed Harry, “Kirke and Sloper can’t be our best options.” He rummaged through his bag for the list of candidates that he had carried around with him ever since Professor McGonagall had passed it on. “Luckily we have about eight more hopefuls who want to be beaters,” he stated with a look at the parchment. “Though I’ve no idea who half of these people even are.”

Ron chuckled nervously, eying the list in Harry’s hand with obvious discomfort. “How many candidates for keeper?” he asked timidly and for the umpteenth time.

“Still just you and McLaggen,” Harry told him with a frown. “Look,” he said then, lowering his voice a little, “nobody wants McLaggen on the team, he’s an idiot.”  

“I don’t know about that, but I think he’s a pretty decent keeper,” Elena piped up unexpectedly. When she caught the warning glance that Hermione sent her, a look of confusion passed across her features. “You were talking about Cormac McLaggen, right?” she enquired cautiously.

Ron gave a small nod; he had turned deathly pale. “What would you know about his Quidditch skills?” he demanded to know.

Elena shrugged. “Saw him at a benefit tournament that his uncle hosted last month,” she explained. “I thought he was quite good – but of course I haven’t seen you play yet.” As she saw Harry’s dark expression she quickly changed course. “I’m sure you’re even better!”

“Of course you are!” Hermione tried to assure him, worried about Ron’s weak nerves.

Harry threw a scathing look in Elena’s direction, who quickly returned her attention back to her book. Then he focused on Ron. “Forget about McLaggen,” he told him urgently. “You’ve got this. Just give your best in the try-outs and you’ve nothing to worry about.”

Ron nodded meekly; Hermione could make out a faint hint of green in his complexion. “There’s still a week till the try-outs,” she said in order to encourage him.

“Exactly,” Harry chimed in. “We have plenty of time to train!”

“Right,” said Ron faintly. “How about we start tomorrow morning?” He gave Harry a hopeful look.

“Sure!” He nodded eagerly.

Hermione had to suppress a sigh. _Well, that’s not what I had in mind,_ she thought resignedly. _Another reason for them to put off their homework._

But at least Ron looked more confident now. “I think I’m going to bed – want to be well rested,” he declared, though it was only just half past seven. “You coming?” he asked Harry.

But Harry shook his head. “I can’t; I’m meeting Dumbledore tonight, remember?”

“Right!” said Ron, clapping his hand to his forehead. “Well, good luck then! Tomorrow you’ll have to tell me all about it!”

Harry nodded vaguely and shot a glance at Elena who had reappeared from behind her book with a curious expression. He waited until Ron had bid them goodnight and disappeared up the stairs leading to the dorms, before he gave the girl an angry look. “I’d really appreciate it if you could refrain from gushing over McLaggen in the future.”

“Sorry about that.” Elena shrugged her shoulders. “I hadn’t realised Ron was that... _squeamish._ ” A hint of a grin ghosted across her face.

“He’s not squeamish!” Harry flared up. “He just gets nervous, that’s all!”

“I see,” stated Elena. “Not the most beneficial quality in a keeper, if you ask me.” At Harry’s furious glare she raised her hands in surrender. “You’re the captain. I’m sure you know what you’re doing.” Resolutely she clapped her book shut and put it in her bag. “I’m going to bed, too. Good luck with Dumbledore.”

Harry glared after her until she was out of sight. “Quite mouthy for someone who can’t even fly,” he remarked to Hermione.

She sighed and decided that it was wiser to keep quiet. “Are you nervous about your lesson?” she asked him, trying to change the topic.

He shrugged. “Sure,” he admitted. “I don’t have the slightest clue what he even wants to teach me, you know?”

Hermione gave him a sympathetic look. “We’ve been over this, Harry. I’m sure it’s all about advanced defensive magic... countercurses, anti-jinxes... something like that.”

“Maybe,” Harry said absently. “By the way – did she tell you what _her_ meeting with Dumbledore was about?” He jerked his head towards where Elena had disappeared up the stairs.

“Not really.” Under his scrutinising stare she shuffled awkwardly in her chair. “She was rather vague... _and_ she returned way past curfew,” she added hesitantly.

For a moment Harry was quiet, frowning thoughtfully. “I think she’s hiding something,” he declared out of blue.  

Hermione flinched; his remark was well in line with her own suspicions. For some reason she felt inclined to trust Elena, yet she couldn’t deny that the girl seemed to be keeping secrets; she had admitted so herself... Cautiously she cleared her throat. “What do you think she’s hiding?”

“I don’t know,” Harry answered with a hint of hesitation, making her wonder whether he might be hiding something as well. “But I plan to find out.”


	40. Downward Spiral

Detention with Snape was brutal. Not only was Blaise bone-tired, after having spent the remainder of last night brooding about what Draco might be doing in the mysterious room upstairs - on top of that was the task Snape had set him tedious, disgusting and pointless. Without using magic he was to dust the professor’s extensive collection of glass jars containing slimy dead objects.

_How can one decorate a room like this?_ mused Blaise, shuddering in revulsion as he looked into the sad eyes of the creature floating in the jar he was working on. _Gross._

Quickly he shoved the jar back into the shelf and grabbed the next one. A second later he almost dropped it, as a forceful stab of another’s mind surged against his mental barriers. Flinching violently, Blaise sucked in a breath. _Bloody Hell!_

“Careful, Zabini,” Snape said softly. “You don’t want to drop that – the potion is quite... _aggressive._ ”

He gritted his teeth. _Bastard!_ Snape gave him a thin-lipped smile and resumed correcting essays. With some effort Blaise forced himself to turn his back on the teacher and proceed with dusting. Inwardly on high alert he waited for the next attack, barely able to keep his hands from shaking. The scratching of Snape’s quill was straining his nerves; it took him every ounce of self-restraint to refrain from whirling around and simply throwing the jar right in the professor’s face.

Snape took his own sweet time before he tried again. This time the assault was so strong, so violent that Blaise lost his grip on the glass he was holding; it fell to the floor and shattered to pieces, spattering him with slimy mush and an ominous potion of bilious green colour. Like Snape had threatened it instantly started to burn through his robes, eating away at the fabric and stinging his skin.

As he gasped in pain, Snape looked up with an indifferent expression. “I believe I told you to be careful,” he drawled and repaired the jar with a lazy swing of his wand.

Blaise glared at him, losing every bit of composure. “Enough of this farce! Just tell me what you want!” he spat at the professor.

Snape curled his lip in a derogatory manner. “Mind your tone, Zabini.” He gave him a scathing look, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arm in front of his chest. “If you want me to be blunt – very well! What do you know about Draco Malfoy’s... _extracurricular activity_?” His dark eyes were piercing into his own.

He gulped, almost surprised by such frank honesty. “Nothing,” he answered defiantly, fighting against the iron grip the professor had put around his mind.

Snape narrowed his eyes at him. “And yet I found you spying on him,” he stated quietly. “Care to explain?”

Blaise clenched his fists; the strain of resisting was nearly unbearable. _I’m not able to sustain this much longer,_ he realised to his horror. _I have to offer him something, anything..._ “I was worried!” he burst out. To his relief the pressure on his mind ceased immediately. Carefully pondering his words, he decided to stay as close to the truth as he dared.

“Draco has been somewhat... _withdrawn_ lately,” he told the professor, who was listening expectantly. “He doesn’t seem to care about school anymore, he’s keeping secrets...” He put on an expression of deep concern, slipping into the role of the genuinely worried friend. “All the time he’s stealing off under flimsy excuses...” Slowly he shook his head. “When I noticed him sneaking out after curfew I just had to go after him! Like I said – I was worried.”

For a moment Snape regarded him intently; his face betraying absolutely nothing. “I see,” he stated eventually, straightening his posture. “As it happens I am concerned about Mr Malfoy as well.” He spoke slowly and in a refined manner, watching his reaction very closely. “I summoned him to my office this week, but Draco chose not to appear.”

_Draco risking to antagonise Snape? That’s odd,_ thought Blaise, very careful to control his expression. “I didn’t know about that,” he told the professor truthfully. _Why would he do that? Unless Snape’s in the dark about his task as well..._

“Well,” drawled Snape, narrowing his eyes at him, “you must be aware of the difficult circumstances Mr Malfoy is currently facing. After what happened to his father, Draco’s situation is quite... _precarious._ ”

Blaise stared at him. _Do you know about his task or not?_ Right now he was wishing he had the skill to invade Snape’s mind, but any attempt at that would be utter suicide. Cautiously he cleared his throat. “I understand,” he said quietly.

“Do you?” Snape asked softly. He was rubbing his left forearm, apparently unconsciously. “I would like you to keep an eye on Draco,” he declared all of the sudden.

He had to suppress a gasp of surprise. _Now, this is unexpected._ Blaise gulped. “I’m not sure I understand you correctly, Sir,” he stated hesitantly.

“Mr Malfoy is in need of someone watching his back,” declared Snape. “He might not be willing to admit that right now, but it is true nonetheless.” The professor gave him a pointed look. “I would ask you to look out for him, to offer your... _assistance_ when he is in need of it.” Snape leaned forward, narrowing his eyes at him. “And if he should open up to you... well, I would expect you to let me know.”

_So he doesn’t know,_ Blaise thought, baffled by the realisation. _If even Snape was kept in the dark – what the hell is Draco’s bloody task?_

The professor was watching him expectantly. Blaise took a deep breath and carefully controlled his expression. “Draco is my friend, Sir,” he told him. “Of course I’m looking out for him.”

“Good.” Snape curled his lip. “Very well, Zabini, you can go now. I hope you learned your lesson.”

Blaise nodded curtly and turned to leave. Just as he was about to open the door, Snape spoke up again. “And Blaise – I’m watching you.” His tone was soft, his voice barely a whisper, yet the threat couldn’t have been more daunting if he had yelled it. Without looking back Blaise fled the room as quickly as he could.

 

* * *

 

Determined to put as much distance between Snape und himself as he could, Blaise took the stairs leading up to the entrance hall. From the Great Hall came the sound of hundreds of voices talking and the clatter of dishes and silverware; apparently lunch was in full swing. Yet the smell of food turned his stomach and so he hurried on and climbed the main staircase. Up and up he went, not stopping until he reached the top of the Astronomy Tower.

There he slumped to the ground, panting heavily with exhaustion. That had been a close call. _Far too close!_ Blaise didn’t dare to imagine what would have happened if Snape had managed to force entry into his mind. Whatever side the professor might be on at the moment, having him learn about his plans would have certainly proved fatal. _Damn it!_

Blaise buried his head in his hands; he was at the end of his wits. _What now?_ He didn’t have the slightest idea.

Death Eater or turncoat, Snape wasn’t a person to be trifled with – he simply couldn’t afford to make an enemy of him. If the professor wanted him to keep an eye on Draco, he’d better do that, or at least give the impression of doing so.

_Why in Merlin’s name wouldn’t Snape know about Draco’s task?_ Blaise wondered frantically. The only possible explanation would be that the Dark Lord didn’t trust him enough to let him in on it, and in that case he should probably warn Draco about him... He sighed resignedly. _Yeah, brilliant idea._

Although - if he presented his warning in the right light, maybe that would suffice to win Malfoy’s trust in this matter... maybe _then_ Draco would be inclined to tell him what scheme he was hatching in the mysterious room on the 7th floor...

His head was reeling; Blaise was at the end of his rope. Bone-weary he leaned his head against the balustrade, closing his eyes. His exhaustion got the better of him. _Sleep_ , that was what he needed... _Just for a minute..._

 

* * *

 

He must have dozed off; the next thing he knew was a hand lightly touching his arm, awakening him with a start. Instinctively Blaise lashed out, driven by the need to defend himself.

An ear-piercing scream startled him out of his daze; there was Daphne, and her robes were on fire... “Fuck!” Without thinking he grabbed his wand and extinguished the flames with a gush of water.

Soaked through she gaped at him, looking completely aghast.

“I’m sorry!” he hurried to apologise.

Daphne showed no reaction to his words; her hair was sticking to her head, dripping wet. She was staring at him like she had never seen him before.

“Daphne?” he asked timidly. “Are you... _okay?_ ”

Suddenly she overcame her stupor, shaking her hair out of her face. She drew in a breath; her eyes were flashing with fury. “Are you bloody mad?”

Blaise flinched. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to...” Helplessly he raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “You startled me!”

“And so you set me on fire?” She seemed to be beside herself with furious disbelief. “What the hell is wrong with you? I barely recognise you anymore!” She whirled around, apparently about to run from him once more.

In a flash he seized her arm. “Don’t go!”

Daphne glared at him. “Let go of me!”

“No!” Blaise clutched her arm like a lifeline. “Please don’t go – I’m sorry!”

“Let – go!” she snarled at him, struggling to break free from his grip.

“Please, Daphne,” begged Blaise. “Listen to me...”

“I’m done listening!” spat Daphne; with her free hand she slapped him full in the face.

Utterly dumbfounded he stared at her, still holding onto her arm.

“Elena was right – you’re completely off your rocker!”

Something inside him snapped and Blaise saw red. With a growl he hurled Daphne against the balustrade, trapping her there between the wall and his body, effectively blocking her escape. He ignored her gasp of shock and her desperate attempts to break free and fixed her with a piercing glare.

“So, this is it then – the reason why you turned your back on me?” he hissed furiously. “Your blasted cousin shows up out of nowhere and puts this bullshit in your head and you just listen to her?”

Daphne let out a strangled sob; her eyes were shining with tears.

Blaise wasn’t anywhere near done though. “We’ve been friends forever and then you just decide ‘ _Fuck it – better listen to that devious little liar’?”_

Now the tears were running down her cheeks. “You’re hurting me,” sobbed Daphne. “Please... let me go!”

In his rage he tightened his grip even more. “You won’t go anywhere!” he spat at her. “You’re going to talk to me now!”

“What’s there to talk about?” cried Daphne. “Just look at you, Blaise... it’s like you’ve become this completely different person – someone I don’t even recognise anymore!”

“I’m different?!” Blaise let out a mad laugh. “That’s funny! You’re the one who got all hysterical about a stupid engagement! – _‘My family’s so mean to me, they make me marry a rich French guy – poor me’!”_ In a fit of fury he taunted her by crudely imitating her voice. “Suck it up, _princess_ – life’s a bitch!”

His outburst seemed to have rendered her speechless; she gaped at him in horror while tears were streaming down her face.

Watching her silent distress was worse than if she would have yelled at him; slowly Blaise came back to his senses. _What have I done?_ Disgusted by himself he let go of her abruptly, sucking in a breath. “I’m so sorry, Daphne - I don’t know what came over me...” He gave her a pleading look. “Forgive me, please!” he begged desperately.

Slowly Daphne shook her head, swallowing hard. When she spoke, her voice was a strained whisper. “Stay the hell away from me!” And with that his former best friend turned her back on him and fled as fast as she could.


End file.
